


Draconis Nox

by lumoxy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Azkaban, Cursed!Draco, Dark Mark, Death Eater - Freeform, Dementor, Drarry, Malfoy Manor, Multi, Mystery, auror!Harry, curse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2018-10-21
Packaged: 2019-08-02 12:07:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16304921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lumoxy/pseuds/lumoxy
Summary: Draco Malfoy discovers that his Dark Mark spreads a curse after Voldemort's death; slowly turning his whole arm black. Five years post-war Harry finally finds out about the existence of this curse and appears to be the only Wizard willing to help the last Death Eater alive to survive the legacy Voldemort left behind for his followers.





	1. It spreads

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first time EVER writing a Drarry and/or Magical fic so please bare with me if I mixed up some details or whatever. Also, my mother language isn't English so excuse any mistakes on that as well! :) I just really hope you'll enjoy this fic as much as I do. It's still a work in progress but hopefully it'll be worth the wait!
> 
> The first chapters might be a little short but I'm working on making them longer as the story continues.
> 
> This fic will get finished after I finish my other fic -- Papillon -- :)

 

**01\. It spreads**

— D.M.—

 

It's still early in the morning when Draco wakes up, opening his eyes slowly to replace the darkness of his dreams with the darkness of reality. The sun has yet to come through which leaves Malfoy Manor still veiled underneath a dark, velvet blanket.

Is it possible that the War happened exactly 5 years ago? What day was it again? Draco doesn't know. All days just follow each other endlessly, meaningless.

'Lumos,' Draco whispers to his wand as he grabs for it with his long, pale fingers. His left arm's itching again, the same feeling he had for the past 5 years. He points the globe of light towards the Dark Mark and watches how it has become invisible underneath his blackened skin, caused by the curse; the curse of an abandoned Death Eater.

The curse started spreading 5 years ago, when the itching started as well, and the Dark Lord was defeated. Of course Draco had experienced itching feelings on his arm before all that, as his head was constantly focused on the biggest mistake of his life; taking the damned mark in the first place. But this itching, it was different.

The first real sign of it being a spreading curse was revealed to him around two months post-War. Conveniently, it had been during his trial. After being held captive at the Auror's headquarters for two months, it was finally time for the youngest Death Eater to defend himself at a trial he had already lost. At least, he thought he had. But there he was, _saint-Potter_ , saving him once again. Oh, the pity in the boy's green eyes as he looked at Draco, sitting there with his hands cuffed, in his wrinkled black suit and with the face of someone who hadn't slept in 10 years. And as Draco sat there, listening to Potter defending him, he couldn't dare to look up and stare into those green eyes displaying all that pity.

Draco never expected anyone to stand up for him, so when Potter showed up and started telling the Wizengamot how Draco didn't identify him at the Manor and about another handful of small details that Draco didn't even remember himself, he was quite surprised. What was Potter trying to reach with defending someone who had been against him his entire life? They had been fighting on opposite sites for as long as they could remember. Yet, the boy was standing across Draco, declaring words he couldn't process.

When the Wizengamot decided to discuss on punishments and/or a life-sentence in Azkaban, Draco felt the terrible itch on his arm for the first time. It was so painful that he had to pull up his sleeve, had to scratch his skin or just do _something_ about it. And then he saw it, the black ink of the Dark Mark starting to spread towards his wrist, the snake's head extending. It looked like a dark, rainy cloud appeared out of nowhere on a sunny day. Or a jar of ink that fell over and destroyed his Charms Class homework. Mortified by the sight of such developments, Draco pulled his sleeve back down and bit his lip. He looked around the room and was relieved to notice that nobody saw what he just saw. Until his eyes fell upon Potter. Those green, green eyes, staring right back in his ash grey ones. _He knew_.

Draco didn't get sent to Azkaban but he did get house arrest for 4 years, forced to stay at the Manor day in, day out together with his mother. Of course it wasn't the punishment most Wizards and Witches wished he should get, but it was probably thanks to the loving words of the Boy-Who-Lived-Twice that it turned out that way. Maybe it was for the best that he couldn't leave the Manor during all those years; the hatred towards those who fought on the wrong side was still high. People who had changed their opinions and had apologized for their actions were still haunted with their past; called names on the streets. Draco couldn't even imagine what reactions he would draw out of people if they'd notice his presence out on the street.

Father got sent off the Azkaban as soon as the War was over, even before he could flee from the decaying battlefield of his old school. The pathetic man didn't even last a week; leaving Mother mourning his death in pure silence for years.

In those 4 years he stayed in his room almost the entire day, only retreating outside in the early, early morning. During those early mornings, his mother would take him out into the garden and learn him how to take care of roses. They were always her first love anyway and helped with recovering from the grief over her husband's death. Or maybe the roses were her second love; Draco always came first in his mother's eyes. He noticed by her long stares at his white blond locks, at his pale hands cutting off rose stems that she missed him greatly during most of the day. This way, the two of them cherished mornings the most.

 

*

 

The curse had spread fast since the day of his trial and now his whole hand had taken over the look of a burned piece of coal. Draco could bet on the fact that it sometimes even smelled like burned coal.

While Draco's still observing his black arm in the light of his previously cast 'lumos', a loud crack resounds through his room followed by the small hunched body of Pibbly, the house elf. She's the only elf his Mother decided to keep after the War; too worried the poor thing would languish away once being abandoned by her owners. Besides; neither Mother nor Draco knew how to cook or take care of a Manor.

'Pibbly was sent by Mistress Malfoy to bring down master Malfoy for breakfast, master Malfoy, sir,' she says. Her voice always sounds sharp in Draco's ears; sending a small shiver down his spine every time she opens her mouth.

With her big blue eyes always pointed at the floor when in the presence of Draco, Pibbly has never noticed his arm before. _And for the better,_ Draco thinks. _Imagine if she would tell Mother about it._ During all those years of the curse spreading further and further he has never been able to tell Mother about it. He's just afraid to see the look of horror on her face; the dark memories of their past flashing in front of her eyes. _No_ , he can't put her through that again.

He gives Pibbly a nod and sends her away again. With the greatest effort, Draco manages to get out of bed and dresses in a pair of plain black robes. His mirror shoots him some unwanted comments on how he wears the same boring robes every single day and gives him the advice ' _to do something about that black hand of his_ ' before he tucks it away in a leather glove he's been wearing for a few months now, to hide the black away.

His mother is already waiting in the breakfast room, hands wrapped around a copy of the Prophet. Draco can't believe she's still reading that crap after all those years of lies and nonsense. These days it's only about what _Potter's_ up to anyway. What type of women he likes, where he buys his tea from, what flavors of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans he has already tried… Not that he would know, he doesn't read the bloody paper anymore, remember?

'Good morning, mother,' he says while sitting down at the opposite end of the table. Pibbly has outdone herself once again, serving way too many dishes for only the two of them.

'Good morning, Draco darling. Did you sleep well?' She lifts up her grey eyes from the paper and stares at her son with the look of a concerned woman. _Aha_ , that look again.

'What is it now, mother? Is it because I'm wearing these robes again? Is it my hair? You can cut it again if you want, I don't really care that much about it anymore,' he says with a sigh.

She shakes her head. 'I'm just… worried about you, Draco. You haven't been outside in 5 years, you know that?'

'Actually only 4 years and 3 months but whatever you say, Mother.'

She sighs and lays down the Prophet next to her tea. She drops a sugar cube in the hot liquid, stirs a few times and then lifts up her eyes again. 'I want you to come to Diagon Alley with me today, Draco. I think visiting some of those shops will do you good. You can buy whatever you want.'

'I don't _want_ anything,'

'Well, then don't buy anything. Just come with me, alright?'

Draco crosses his arms and puts on a little pout. Suddenly remembering that he's once again acting like an eleven year old, he uncrosses his arms and straightens his face. 'Why would you want to go to Diagon Alley anyway? We already own every book worth purchasing from Flourish and Blotts, we don't need new robes from Madam Malkin's because we're not attending any festivities and-'

'Don't be like that, Draco. I actually wanted to buy a new owl for you. That way you could maybe exchange letters again with some old friends. I bet they're worried about you… it's been 5 years.'

Draco sighs. It's true, he hasn't heard a thing from any of his old Hogwarts friends since his trial. It's also not that he has tried to send letters to Blaise, Pancy or anyone else during the past years, has he? And what should he tell them? _I'm slowly turning into coal and am extremely lonely, could they please come be his friend again? Thank you._ Not to mention the fact that he never really liked owls. Probably because the Eagle owl he had during his time at Hogwarts wasn't very friendly to him; he used to bite his hands a lot and often return with wrinkled or nearly destroyed letters.

'I think that's a bad idea, Mother. I don't think any of my old friends want anything to do with me. And I'm fine, don't worry about me.' Draco tries to smile but only manages to get something more similar to a grimace.

His mother doesn't seem very convinced but relaxes her shoulders a little, as to say that she at least _tried_. She picks up the Prophet again and Draco peers at the front page, looking at the face of Potter holding up a new addition to the Nimbus brooms family.

He focuses himself on his breakfast again, an attempt to at least eat _something_. With knife and fork in hand he's ready to devour a piece of toast when he suddenly feels the itching again; a strong and stabbing feeling running up his left arm. He drops his fork and takes a deep breath, not daring to look up at his mother who hurries over to his side of the table, cautioned by the sound of dropped cutlery.

'Draco, are you alright? What's wrong?' Her eyes are full of worry and she drops down in a hunched position next to him, laying her hand upon his arm.

Mortified, Draco pulls his arm away from her and gets up from his seat as fast as he can. His eyes are slowly filling up with tears from the pain. When was the last time his arm hurt this bad? 'I'm fine,' he manages to say. 'I think I'm going back to my room. I'm not feeling so well.'

With that said, Draco hurries himself back upstairs, through hallways, around corridors until he reaches his room and slams the door shut with a loud _wham_. He pulls up the sleeve of his robes and watches how the curse slowly crawls over his inner elbow, spreading like a dark storm.

 _'Fuck!'_ He mutters to himself, grabbing his arm as to try and make it stop from spreading any further. ' _Stop_ it!'

Tears are running down his cheeks now, panic slowly making him hyperventilate. This _can't_ be happening. It's not possible that it's spreading upwards now as well. The fear of it taking over his entire body slowly kicks in as he watches it reach his mid-upper arm, hovering around that area like a cloud full of rain. And then it stop again. The pain drifts away; the cloudy pattern settles as an ink blot, the tears on his cheeks dry.

 

— H.P. —

 

A meaningless waste of his life, that's what his work has become. Harry peers over the edge of his cubicle, catching a glimpse of red hair and then the look of a bored man. At least his best friend feels the same way about all this paperwork as he does. He sighs and drops himself back down on his chair, lifting his head up towards the ceiling and looking at the ugly, cool lights of the Auror Department.

Harry has been working as an Auror for 3 years now, after finishing his 2 years of training together with Ron. A good 6 months after the War, they decided to ask Kingsley if it was possible for them to join Auror training without finishing their Newts. _It wasn't a problem_ , he said, he even was glad that the _savior_ of the Wizarding World and his so called _side-kick_ wanted to join such an important department at the Ministry. Only a week later they were learning about the most complicated curses to protect, defend and capture.

At the beginning it was all very interesting and fascinating; not to mention _thrilling_. It was all new and something he thought he'd always wanted to be; an Auror. _Harry Potter_ , the Auror. But as the last Death Eaters were captured and most other dark wizards and witches decided to forever hide away in foreign countries, the Auror Department became a boring place to work. Nowadays he only gets called out on a field trip once in 2 weeks and spends most of his time doing paperwork for the Ministry.

Not to mention the fact that his best friends had their first child and he's still stuck being the famous, _single_ , wizard who saved the world. _The-Boy-Who-Lived-To-Be-Alone;_ what a joke it all seems. Of course he could've stayed in a relationship with Ginny, but after the war it just didn't feel right. They both had their own big dreams and ideas for the future, and somehow, they didn't match. And secretly, Harry doesn't even know if he even truly loved her. Or at least, not in the right way or in the way he should have.

So, Harry _famous single man_ Potter hadn't dated anyone in the last 4 years, causing him to feel utterly alone and haunted with front pages of the Prophet and Witch Weekly discussing his non-existent love life.

It's weird, that every time he thinks about the word 'love' he either thinks about his own mother or Narcissa, Draco's mother. The love for her son he heard when she asked if he was still alive, it's something that fills his heart with great warmth. He thinks about that almost daily, and with that, _of course_ , comes the face of the blond git. But in his head he's not the Malfoy he knew during most his time at Hogwarts but a scared boy fleeing from the fiendfyre or his crying reflection in the girl's bathroom mirror.

There hasn't been a sign of Malfoy since his trial, not a word nor a newspaper article. It's almost like he completely disappeared from the world, hiding away somewhere in the Draco constellation. But who knows, maybe he's happier between the stars.

Harry smirks a little at the thought of Draco _sodding_ Malfoy floating between the stars with a judging look on his face, almost as if it was Harry's fault he got all the way up there. Harry swears he could hear him say ' _Potter_ ' when Ron's serious face suddenly breaks through his daydream.

'What are you so happy about?' He asks, eyeing Harry up and down as if he could find the answer somewhere between his Auror robes and his messy hair.

'Just had a rather funny thought, if you must know,' he answers. 'What are you so serious about?'

'Well, while you were smirking at your _invisible_ funny thought, Unspeakable Davis passed by to tell me a rather exciting story.'

'I doubt that Davis would _ever_ have something exciting to say. Either he tells a really daft story or he just says he can't talk about it because he is an _Unspeakable_ ,' Harry replies, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms. He never really liked Davis that much. The fellow is full of himself, walking around in expensive robes, chin held up high and not to mention the strong air of some terrible perfume he describes as ' _too expensive for Aurors of your kind_ '.

Ron chuckles a little, holding in a laugh as he probably also thinks about the fellow walking around; thinking he's the Minister himself and all that. 'Anyway, he _did_ have a good story to tell this time. A story worth a field trip, mate!' Ron jumps off his chair with excitement, grabbing his coat and already throwing it over his shoulders.

Harry also gets up from his chair, trying to figure out just what kind of story that may be. Unspeakables mostly never share a story, unless of course they would need the assistance from an Auror. Well, that would be the case then, right?

His best friend now hurries over to his side of the cubicle, leaning against his desk. 'So, you do remember how we put away all of the left-over Death Eaters a few years ago, right?' He asks.

Harry nods. Of course he remembers. 'That's probably the most stupid question you've asked me in 5 years.'

'Sorry, I just needed a way to start the story… But, did you know that there are not many Death Eaters left in Azkaban right now, as most of them died only a few weeks or months after their capture?'

'That seems logical; they don't have anyone to obey anymore and they're hated by the whole world. Not to mention the fact that they're encaged in a prison in the middle of a wild sea, surrounded by dark walls and terrible food.'

'Well, yes… But that's not exactly what I'm aiming at. With not many, I actually mean that there's only one Death-Eater left in the whole prison!'

Harry thinks about this for a second. How is it that only one Death Eater, out of all they had arrested, has been able to survive for so long? Why couldn't the others stand the macabre circumstances the prison offers? He also tells this to Ron, who just nods and seems eager to continue his story.

'That's also what Davis said. It's weird, right? That only one is still alive? I know Azkaban is just like what you described, but it isn't surrounded by Dementors anymore so beside from a little hardship, it should be alright to at least stay alive.'

'So where are you going with this? Is there someone inside Azkaban that murdered all the Death Eaters in secret or something?' Harry starts to lose his nerve. Could Ron please just come to the point? _Thank you very much._

'It's not someone…,' Ron's eyes get a bit bigger as he continues 'it's _something_!' He throws his hands in the air, making a gesture like describing a big balloon, or probably in his mind, some kind of giant cursed cloud. 'Dolohov is that one Death Eater who's still alive, _but not so well_ , in Azkaban. One of his guards recently noticed that there was something wrong with the man's hand; and that's when he asked for an Unspeakable to come and check it out.'

'Why did he request an Unspeakable and not an Auror? Azkaban is a dangerous place, I'm not sure an Unspeakable could fight against any of it's prisoners without losing a limb.' Harry's also just a little upset that they could've checked it out easily and then have reported it to an Unspeakable, if necessary. It also would've made all this quite unnecessary.

Ron shrugs but continues with great eager. 'Davis was that Unspeakable and he immediately saw that the Death Eater was cursed. But it's not a curse that was cast within the walls of Azkaban, no, the curse is spread by the _Dark Mark!_ '

Harry's heart makes a sudden jump, a stabbing feeling inside his chest. Where did that come from? He doesn't have time to think about it. The only thing he _can_ think about is the only other Death Eater on this planet that's alive besides from Antonin Dolohov; _Malfoy_. He quickly grabs his coat from his chair, throws it over his shoulders and starts heading towards the door with Ron on his heels.

'Where are you suddenly off to, mate? Are we going to Azkaban to check on Dolohov and his cursed arm?' Ron shouts after him, having a hard time to keep up with Harry's fast pace.

'No, we're going to Malfoy Manor,' Harry replies, rounding a corner and jumping into the Ministry's rickety elevator.

Ron follows, confusion read all over his face. He pulls the golden gate closed and stares at Harry for a while before asking _why_. Harry takes a deep breath and shakes his head. He doesn't know exactly _why_ himself; he just knows that he has to go, has to see if Malfoy is also suffering from the curse. What if he died already years ago and he didn't know about anything? Harry's heart jumps again, leaving him feeling empty and hollow for a few seconds. Then he suddenly remembers, Malfoy looking at his arm with great horror during the trial. It had looked like something was wrong with his Dark Mark, but Harry didn't think anything of it back then.

' _Fuck_ ,' he mutters to himself. He could've known about the curse already 5 years ago!

They arrive at the atrium and take a sprint towards one of the fireplaces. He pushes Ron besides him in the narrow space and they both grab for some floo powder, pronouncing the words 'Malfoy Manor', loud an clearly.

 

— End of Chapter 01 —


	2. Conceal and reveal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own anything Harry Potter. Also this is my first ever Drarry/Magical fic and my Mother language also isn't English so please excuse any mistakes I made.
> 
> As I already said in the notes of the previous chapter, the first chapters will be short as I think it works the best for the story. Future chapters will be longer, I promise! :)

 

**02\. Conceal and reveal**

— D.M. —

 

It's a bit before noon when a loud crack resounds through Draco's room. Hours have passed since he saw the curse spread again, yet he still has no idea what caused it or how it can be stopped from spreading any further. All he could think of was to try destroy it, try to scratch it off. It had resulted in an even more painful feeling and thick drops of bloods rolling down to his wrist. The crying had stopped, moved on to the outdoors of Malfoy Manor; heavy rain of his tears now falling down on the rose garden. Drop, drop, drop, _crack_. Another rose breaks her stem.

Pibbly's standing in front of his wardrobe, looking down at her feet while waiting for Draco to notice her presence. ‘Pibbly is here to tell master Malfoy that there are two Aurors sirs here to see master Malfoy, sir. Pibbly has provided them with tea, sir. They’re waiting in the drawing room, master Malfoy, sir,’ the house elf says. She shuffles a bit with her feet, eyes still pointed at Draco's mahogany floor. She seems to be a bit nervous about something, perhaps he should ask what's bothering her. 

‘Where is Mother?’ Draco asks instead.

‘Mistress Malfoy is out, sir. She went to Diagon Alley to get an owl, master Malfoy, sir.’ 

So Mother decided to go to that doomed street anyway? And what are a pair of Aurors doing at his house; it's not like they ever cared about him before. Draco sighs and sends Piggly back to his unwanted guests. At least he's glad she put them in the drawing room; let them suffer in the silence of a room where all things miserable and macabre once took place. Draco's heart jumps as he realizes that he himself doesn't even like to be in that very room. Oh well, he'll live through it. 

Deciding that it would be best to cover up his arm from the curious eyes of the Auror pair, he casts a quick and easy concealing charm on it. ' _Celare_ ,' he murmurs, pointing his wand at his left arm. Of course he doesn't know if it worked, but he remembers Zabini trying it out back at Hogwarts; desperate to hide an acne scar from the Wizarding World.

After washing his face and throwing his outer robes on again, he makes his way towards the drawing room. Double doors, black and trimmed with silver lining, doom up in front of him. He hears soft voices behind it, whispering about something he can't understand. It brings him back to a time when he would pass these doors, hearing the Dark Lord whisper grotesque instructions to his followers. A shiver spreads through his body, leaving him feeling cold and sick. _Don't worry,_ he tells himself, _it's not him. He's gone._

With a hard push, the double doors swing open and he's ready to make a big entrance, showing the Aurors that he's still _very_ much alive and very much _not_ lonely. But as soon as he takes a step on the awful baroque carpet and takes a look at the faces of the Aurors… he's dumbfounded.

Hair as a bird's nest, eyes as green as morning grass and that ridiculous lightning bolt scar flashing over his right eyebrow.

' _Potter_ ,' he spits out, biting his bottom lip with fury. What is _he_ doing here?

Draco's eyes take in the _Boy-Who-Lived-Twice_ for a few seconds, standing there as if he owns the place. Hands in his sides, Auror robes wrinkled, terrible choice of outerwear… But Potter definitely doesn't look the same way he did 5 years ago. His shoulders are more broad, his jawline more present and his cheekbones too; as if he was on a strict diet only recently. The bird's nest is still the same, as are his glasses and the green, green eyes behind it; definitely 100% Hogwarts schoolboy Potter.

And not only that, no; he also had to bring _the_ _Weasel_. Not to mention the fact that he's staring at Malfoy like he just ate something terrible and is dying to spit it out, right in his face. The Weasel himself looks still the same as during his Hogwarts days; too tall, red hair too bright, too many freckles and probably hand-me-down Auror robes.

'Malfoy,' Potter replies, looking at Draco as if he's looking at a ghost.

Is it his pale complexion? His ordinary robes? Maybe the slightly surprised expression on his face? No, Potter wouldn't be able to see through Draco's dead stare. With a sigh, Draco crosses his arms and squints his eyes at the Golden _Duo._  

'What do you want?' he asks the pair, not in the most cheerful tone _of course_.

Weasley sneers a little and scratches a spot above his left eyebrow, eyeing Potter as if it's his fault that they're now in the presence of a very annoying _ferret_.

Potter on the other hand bites his lip a little and mimics Draco's crossed arms. He looks down at his feet for a few seconds and then gets a push in his side from the Weasel, as if to say he better hurries up so he can go back to whatever things Weasels do.

'We were-,' Potter gets another push from Weasel, more like a hard poke this time, 'I mean, I was worried about you.'

'Why would _you_ be worried about _me_ , Potter?' He lifts his eyebrows a little, tightens the grasp of his crossed arms.

Potter shrugs, as if he himself isn't even sure why he's worried about such a miserable fuck named Draco Malfoy. 'Ever since your trail I've just been wondering where you were and-'

'Don't make me laugh!' Draco spits out, rolling his eyes. 'You knew _exactly_ where I was after my trial! I was _here_! I got house arrest for 4 years, remember? And you were the one who suggested that stupid idea to the Wizengamot in the first place!' Draco let's out a long breath of irritation and oh, if looks could kill, Potter would be a dead man right now .

But Potter doesn't get affected by a glare that intense for even a second. He just sighs, lifts an eyebrow at Weasley and lets the red haired man continue; 'We want to see your Dark Mark, Malfoy.'

A wave of panic wraps around Draco's heart for just a second, before he remembers his concealment charm and once again replaces his fear with anger.

'You want to see my Dark Mark? Well, fine! Here it is; take a good look at it before I kick your arse out of my bloody house!' While getting upset and spitting out words at the duo, he pulls up his left sleeve and shows his arm to the Auror pair. But even though he's raging, he's still begging for the concealment charm to do it's magic and just show an ordinary Dark Mark to them instead of what his own eyes see. 

Green and blue eyes stare at his skin with great interest; their bodies a bit hunched over towards Draco's arm. The Weasel is the first to look away, pointing his oceanic eyes at Potter instead. 'Mate, there's nothing wrong with his arm. Bet this git didn't get the same Mark as all the others,' he says to Potter.

But Potter doesn't look away, keeps staring at Draco's arm like he's been hypnotized. Having enough of it, Draco pulls his arm away and hides it beneath his robes. Only then Potter gets snapped back to reality and blinks a few times with his eyes. 'N-no,'he says. 'Nothing wrong with his arm… apparently.'

Draco squints his eyes a bit at Potter. What's with the weird tone he said that? Almost as if… as if he didn't mean it. Potter won't even look him in the eye anymore, just stands there staring at the ugly carpet again.

As Draco's about to make a snide comment about Potter being his weird old self again; the Weasel decides he's waisted enough time at the blond git's house, which he also _loudly_ announces, and makes his way towards the front door with quick steps. Potter doesn't know what to do for a second but decides following his _lunatic_ of a best friend is probably the best option. Hovering in the doorframe though, he decides to face Draco again and stutter some more words.

'Uhm… Would it be alright i-if I could m-maybe come back tonight?' He finally dares to look Draco in the eyes again, and what he looks at is a face of pure confusion. Why in the Wizarding World would Harry _fucking_ Potter want to come back to his house tonight? To invade his privacy once again? To do a secret interview for the Prophet so he can be published as 'our hero, the _friend_ of the youngest Death Eater'?

'No, that would absolutely _not_ be alright, Potter!' Draco answers. 'You can't just choose whenever you want to invade my house and ask annoying and irrelevant questions!'

Potter sighs and keeps his eyes locked in Draco's. His jaw clenches a little as he replies; 'But they weren't that irrelevant, were they?'

A stab in his heart, maybe a reaction to those words. He _knew_. He saw the real and not the concealed version of his arm. He saw the _truth_. _Of course he saw the truth,_ Draco thinks by himself. _He already saw the truth 5 years ago at his trial._

With that said, Potter turns around and makes his way to the front door, leaving Draco in the drawing room. All alone and utterly scared.

 

 

— H.P. —

 

It's a quarter to noon when they arrive at Malfoy Manor. Even though the glory days for the blond family are over, the front garden still looks exceptional. Somewhere between a few bushes he can see the pale white feathers of the peacocks, running around gardens where a dark force once ruled.

Ron isn't really feeling happy about the fact that they're visiting Malfoy, he told Harry that just when they arrived. Not to mention that it was written all over his face.

The heavy doors of the Manor get opened by a house-elf with big blue eyes. Harry could swear those eyes were the same color as Ron's, but didn't dare to make a comment about it as his best friend didn't really seem to be in the mood to be compared to Malfoy's house elf.

'How can Pibbly help you sirs?' The house-elf asks.

'This is Ron Weasley and I am Harry Potter. We're from the Auror Department and wish to speak to Draco Malfoy,' Harry replies to her. The eyes of the house elf lit up a little at the mention of their names, but then fade as if it's also a curse to bring these famous wizards inside.

She first stares at Harry for a very long time and then at Ron. Finally deciding that it's probably alright to let them in, she takes a step aside and waves her thin arm to some high double doors a bit further down the entryway. 

'Pibbly would be delighted to welcome Harry Potter sir and Ron Weasley sir to Master Malfoy's house. Please wait in the drawing room as Pibbly gets tea and Master Malfoy for you sirs.' She bows her head a little and then disapparates from the entryway, leaving them heading alone to the drawing room.

Harry knows this is the room where Voldemort used to discuss all his sinister plans with his followers; it's almost as if he can still hear his snake-like voice whisper commands and shout Crucios at innocents he held captive. Why the house-elf would choose such a room to keep guests in was a mystery to Harry.

'Are you sure Malfoy is also suffering from the curse, Harry?' Ron asks. 'I mean, it's been 5 years and there hasn't been one report from St. Mungo's asking for a healer to come over to Malfoy Manor. Neither did we receive any reports on the matter. But on the other hand, nobody has heard from the ferret since his trial so maybe he's already dead.'

Harry shivers a bit at the thought; he would never want Malfoy to be dead, not even after all the things he's done or all the hatred they felt for each other during their Hogwarts years. No, Malfoy couldn't be dead; maybe ill but definitely not dead.

'The house-elf, Pibbly, spoke of a Master Malfoy so I guess he's still alive. Unless Lucius has returned to the Manor as a ghost, of course,' he says to Ron, imagining the long haired ghost of Lucius Malfoy, haunting the Manor with glares of death.

As they're discussing their plan to visit Dolohov in Azkaban next, the doors to the drawing room swing open with great force, revealing a very much alive Draco Malfoy in it's frame.

' _Potter_ ,' the blond mutters to him. It's clearly visible to Harry that Malfoy was surprised to see them, even though he tries to hide it. Pibbly probably didn't tell him that it were Potter and Weasley that were his unexpected Auror guests.

As Malfoy takes the two of them in, observing them from head to toe with a look of utter irritation visible in his eyes, Harry decides to do the same. But he can't look at Malfoy the same way as he does, he's too shocked to see what has become of his archenemy. Even though he always knew Malfoy was pale, this was a whole different shade of pale; the kind of color you get when you're about to throw up. And those dark circles around his eyes, red veins visible around his grey irises; Draco Malfoy looks like he has already died of a curse he has yet to discover he's suffering from. But maybe that's it, maybe he _does_ know he's suffering from a certain curse. And isn't that also the reason why Harry's here in the first place?

And when Malfoy pulls up his sleeve after giving a raged reaction to Harry's unwanted worry, all hope of a healthy and totally fine Malfoy fades away. The exposed skin that Malfoy shows to them is as black as the night, almost blending in with the dark vibes of the drawing room. Harry can't even _see_ the Dark Mark itself anymore; just blackness. A void. 

Harry is curious to know if his gloved hand is also struck by the curse, or his shoulder. Maybe it even has reached his chest already? His heart jumps at the idea and he feels all the color in his face drain away. Fortunately he gets snapped out of his sorrowful thoughts by Malfoy angrily pulling his sleeve back down. 

And then Ron's comment makes him feel dumbfounded. How could he not see what he just saw? _'Malfoy's whole arm is black, Ron!'_ he wants to shout, but he swallows those worlds and acts like he didn't see the transformation of the once so pale arm. 

Maybe Malfoy had cast a concealment charm on his arm before coming down; that would make sense in some way. But why is it that Harry can still see what lays underneath that charm and Ron can't? What did Hermione have to say about concealment charms again? Harry's mind flashes back to a conversation they had around a year ago; asking how he could conceal his scar from the world. She told him something about it being effective to people you didn't know and didn't trust. To friends, family and people whom you would trust with your life, the scar or whatever it was you were trying to hide, would still be visible to that person. But why would Draco Malfoy trust Harry _freaking_ Potter with his _life_? 

Because of all the thinking he almost doesn't notice Ron suddenly walking out of the drawing room, heading straight to the door; ready to leave. But he still has so many things to ask Malfoy? Not really knowing what to do, he decides to just follow Ron. But as he takes one step outside the room, he suddenly feels unable to take another step. Without even thinking about it, he turns around and asks Malfoy if he can come back later tonight. He wants to talk more to him, wants to know when the curse started spreading and so on. But of course he gets the reaction he expected; a firm and angry denial to ever set foot in Malfoy Manor again.

Feeling a bit irritated, Harry gives away the fact that he saw it. That he saw through Malfoy's concealment charm and _knows_ what's up with his arm. The look on Malfoy's face says enough, and satisfied, Harry leaves the Manor behind.

 

*

 

Together with Ron he apparates straight from Malfoy Manor to Azkaban. He never liked visiting the prison in the first place, and now his head's full of Malfoy and his blackened arm; he especially can't manage to focus at all. The dark prison rises up in front of them as a sharp, black rock. It must've been an even more horrible place to visit when the Dementors still guarded the place; the feeling of terror and despair haunting every visitor to the bone.

To his relief, or maybe not so much, they don't even have to enter the building itself. A jailer meets them at the entrance with a straight, serious face and crossed arms. 'I heard you two were coming so 'thought I'd spare you the effort of making a way through this macabre building. Would've been unnecessary,' he says.

Harry and Ron both look at each other in confusion. 'Unnecessary?' Ron mutters. 'How do you mean unnecessary? Did something happen to Dolohov?'

The jailer nods. 'He died only a few hours ago, the piece of crap. That Unspeakable was here only a few minutes after we reported it to the Ministry. Took the body with him immediately and everything. Seemed scared, the fellow.'

'You mean Unspeakable Davis?' Harry asks and the jailer nods. 'What was he scared of? The body or-?'

A shrug follows and Harry sighs, looks at Ron who shakes his head a little. 'We need to go talk to Davis. Maybe he'll allow us to see Dolohov's body before they burry it away somewhere,' Ron says to him.

'It's weird though,' Harry thinks out loud as they leave the building, heading towards the small apparition point at the end of a long, stone bride. '-why would Davis be scared of Dolohov's body? Was he afraid that he would get infected by the curse himself?'

Ron shrugs and let's out a long breath. 'I wouldn't know, mate. Never been so good with reading the spoiled fellow in the first place. Guess we'll just have to go and ask him about it, that's our only option.'

Harry nods and stares over the edge of the stone bridge, looking at the wild sea surrounding them. The sound is not like the relaxing sound of ocean waves, rather a dooming sound announcing death. After listening to it another while, he apparates back to the Ministry.

 

— End of Chapter 02 —


	3. A decaying rose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own anything Harry Potter. Also this is my first ever Drarry/Magical fic and my Mother language also isn't English so please excuse any mistakes I made.
> 
> The next chapter will be a little bit longer, hopefully. I guess I just enjoy writing chapters that are a bit shorter. :)

**03\. A decaying rose**

— D.M. —

 

A week passes in rainy silence, many raindrops fall atop the Manor's roof day in, day out. There are no more unexpected visits from unwanted Aurors, or proposed outings to Diagon Alley. Draco has his mind for his own, keeping himself locked away in his room ever since Potter and Weasley's visit.

It's Sunday morning, a bit before the break of dawn, when Draco decides to go out into the garden for a morning walk. He loves taking early walks as he can leave his heavy robes in his room, together with his glove. Acting like there's nothing wrong with his arm nor hand, he let's it catch a gust of wind between the roses.

Draco closes his eyes and thinks about his time before Hogwarts; a happy child, that he was. Father, always proud of him. Mother, giving him everything he wanted. It was like he was living in a _dream_. He flew high, higher than the top of the Manor, almost above the clouds on his first broom. A little boy feeling free; as if he was the most powerful wizard already, even though he didn't even own a wand yet. But that feeling of freedom faded fast once he got enrolled into Wizarding School. All of the sudden there was the pressure of responsibility and honor placed on top of his shoulders. Father, never proud. Mother, worried about him all the time. Years have passed since the moment he felt like he lost his freedom, and still he hasn't been able to regain what he's missed during many empty days.

Draco opens his eyes again and notices that the sun is slowly starting to break through, giving the red roses a yellow gleam. His eyes catch a beautiful red rose, faced proudly towards the morning sun. He reaches out to touch one of its petals, gently stretching out one of his blackened fingers. Only the tip of his finger is laid atop the delicate rose when it suddenly starts to decay, it's petals turning black and sloppy within a second. Draco pulls his hand away in horror and stares at the wilted rose, hanging limp from her stem with tears welling in his eyes.

'What has become of me?' he asks the rose. A teardrop slides off his cheek and he wipes it away with his right hand, not daring to use his left one for anything anymore. He now faces the sky and watches a flock of birds fly over the Manor, free to go wherever they want to.

With a sigh and some more tears leaving his cheeks, he decides that he's stronger than this and needs to man up a bit. _Don't be so pathetic_ , he tells himself. But it's doesn't really help. Why should he act like he's tough when he's not? He's hiding a secret that is literally ripping his body apart. And as if it waited for those thoughts to occur, the terrible itching starts once again.

Draco grabs ahold of his blackened arm, dropping himself to his knees. The wilted rose stares judgmentally at him, as if it's his punishment for destroying such a beautiful thing gifted by Mother Nature. The curse starts to spread again; black clouds drifting over his shoulder and sending terrible pains throughout his whole arm. The spreading process lasts shorter this time, but it's more painful than before. Draco finds it difficult not to scream and digs his fingers deep into the soil as if to relief the pain. Dark brown earth crawls underneath his fingernails and the cold feeling makes him relax a bit. He let's out a long breath of air and stand up again, his eyes still focused on his shoulder.

It's official now; his entire arm has become as black as the night. Draco hesitantly touches the newly blackened skin of his shoulder and shivers when a painful feeling spreads through his entire body. _This is it_ , he thinks. He can't live on like this, waiting for the curse to finally reach the last part of his body and take it into the dark void of Death.

Determined he storms back towards the Manor, making his way towards the entrance hall. 'Mother!' he shouts at the top of his lungs. Grabbing one of his outer robes, hanging by the staircase, he waits for his mother to respond. Just as he pulls the robe over his arm, he can hear her soft voice answer him from above.

'What is it, love?' She stands at the top of the staircase, left hand resting on the balustrade. Worry is readable from her face as well as exhaustion. _That's your fault, Draco_ , he thinks to himself. _Not showing your face to her for days, you might as well've been dead._

But he didn't call Mother this early to assure her of himself being alive. He called for another, more important reason. 'Where is that owl you bought for me last week? I think I do need it, now,' he says to her.

His mother gives him a confused look but calls for Pibbly. The house-elf arrives within a second and Narcissa instructs her to bring Draco the newly purchased owl from the Manor's owlery.

 _Ah yes,_ Draco thinks. He forgot they had their own owlery here at the Manor's grounds. When he still had his Eagle Owl he would often bring some treats to it before bedtime. He bites his lip guiltily at the thought of waking his Mother over nothing and sending Pibbly off in the cold morning air to do something he also could've done. The thought makes him bite his lip even harder. Why should he feel bad about letting a house-elf do a house-elf thing? Isn't she there to do any task demanded by her Masters anyway?

Draco and his Mother stay put as near-statues in the entrance hall until Pibbly returns. Narcissa at the top of the stairs, dressing gown clutched closed in her hands, and Draco, standing at the bottom, keeping his left hand in the pockets of his robes at all costs. The soft 'hoot' of an owl breaks them from their silent trance and draws both their attention towards the creature.

'You bought me a Snow Owl?' Draco says in horror. The white creature looks at him with bright yellow eyes and let's out another soft hoot.

His Mothers shrugs, lifting her shoulders ever so slightly. 'I thought it suited you rather well.' Then she let out a sigh. 'Better than the Eagle Owl every did, at least.'

With that said, she disappears into her chambers again, leaving Draco alone in the hallway with a hooting owl and a concerned looking house-elf. 'Off you go again, Pibbly,' he says to her. The house-elf hesitantly hands over the owl to Draco, who takes it from her with great disgust. Yet another reminder of that _stupid_ Saint-Potter.

 

*

 

It's already late in the afternoon when Draco finally sends off his letter. It took him way longer than expected to invite someone as the annoying arse over to his house.

' _I changed my mind, Potter. I now do want to talk to you about my coal-like arm…_ ' It all seemed so easy in his head but when it came to actually writing it down and sending off the actual letter, it had become quite the task. But Draco was satisfied enough with his final version to send it off to Potter with his new owl, _Noir_ , before he could change his mind.

 

_Potter_

_After your unexpected and_ _highly_ _unwanted presence at the Manor last week, I have been thinking. And no, I didn't think about you and your sodding bird's nest of a hair; I thought about what you said. Or at least, tried to say._

 _As I must admit, I might have been a bit of an unwelcoming host but it was, and always has been, my first priority to get your arse kicked out of my sight the second I catch a glimpse of you. Nevertheless, I think that you were trying to say something of highly importance and after thinking it through, I might be able to use your help._  

_Yes, Potter. I, Draco Malfoy, am asking for you help._

_Hereby I hope that your own invitation to revisit my house, the grand Malfoy Manor, is still valid and wish to receive you at 9:30pm_ _tonight_ _precisely._

_Yours sincere,_

_D.M._

_P.S.:_ _Don't you dare to bring the Weasel along again._

 

*

 

Potter's response arrives within the following hour, brought in by a satisfied looking Noir. Draco takes the letter from the owl and watches it with a side glance. Potter probably gave the damn thing a few treats and was probably utterly happy to see such a beautiful resemblance of his own Snow Owl. Curious, Draco opens the letter and tries to decipher Potter's messy handwriting.

 

 _Malfoy_  

_Will be there. No Ron, promised._

_H.P._

 

That's all it says. Did Potter really have to use such a large sheet of parchment for those few words? Not to mention the fact that the _idiot_ even put it in an envelop and everything. Draco rolls his eyes and tosses the 'letter' somewhere between his books of Dark Curses on his desk.

Now all he has to do is wait; wait for his old archenemy to make his way to the Manor again. And help him… hopefully.

 

— H.P —

 

Returning to the Ministry hadn't been like the duo thought it would be. Ready to interrogate the annoying _shit_ named Davis, Ron and Harry had stormed into the Ministry with a mission. But once arrived at the Department of Misteries, they were kindly told to _sod off_ because Davis wasn't in his office. Not letting any hope down yet, they decided to talk to the Minister of Magic himself. It would sort out everything in the quickest and simplest way, they decided.

At least, they thought so.

Kingsley wasn't quite happy to see them, telling them from the start that he was _very_ busy and not in the mood to answer any questions. Pushing through anyway, the duo managed to get all the information they needed; or at least, the information they could have access to.

Davis could be found at St.Mungo's, in a state of complete shock after returning from Azkaban. Apparently he kept screaming that he'd seen a Dementor, even though Dementors were banned from Azkaban and any other inhabited place on earth. Harry and Ron both decided afterwards that it probably wasn't a real Dementor Davis was talking about, rather the dead and cursed body of Dolohov. Davis did mention something about a black hand earlier anyway, and seeing Malfoy's black arm also was a confirmation to Harry that the blackening of the curse could be compared to the darkness of a Dementor.

It wasn't possible for Harry nor Ron to see the body of Dolohov, as it was kept at a special and new department for cursed corpses. Kingsley didn't want anyone that wasn't authorized to be in close range of the decaying body, thereby forbidding the duo any access. Besides, Harry and Ron should be happy; the last Death Eater had died. The Wizarding World could finally sleep on both its ears.

Of course Harry couldn't keep himself quiet after that comment. How could Kingsley forget about Malfoy that easily? He didn't do anything wrong, expect for maybe making a few bad decisions. And even if he did do a few horrible things; nobody, expect for maybe Voldemort, deserved to die from a curse without at least _trying_ to heal it.

Kingsley had then sent them out of his office, disappointed in both of them for whatever reason. Wasn't it an Auror's duty to protect Wizards and Witches from curses and evil? Something was off about it all. What was it that Davis had seen in Dolohov's body that made it resemble a Dementor that much. Sure enough it could have been as black as Malfoy's arm but Unspeakables should be used to at least seeing burned corpses. Wasn't that similar to an entire black corpse, anyway? It all became a mystery Harry was desperate to solve.

 

*

A week later, late in the afternoon, Harry finds himself sprawled across the sofa; book in one hand and a mug of homemade chocolate milk in the other. If there's one thing Harry thought he could do best; it was probably making homemade hot chocolate. Something about melting the chocolate, adding milk at the right time and then pouring it into a mug to let it set for a few minutes was enchanting to the man. It made his mind at piece and reminded him of Christmas days at Hogwarts. Even though he often wished he had a family to go to like most students, the Holidays were always quite the sight at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And _yes_ , the hot chocolate was a sight and taste as well. Now that he didn't have any house-elve to produce such a fine beverage for him anymore, he developed his own; and it was just as good!

He felt his muscles relax after a long day of paperwork and breaking his head over the Death Eater-mystery. Not that he had come very far with his plans other than to break into the special cursed corpse department and try to steal Dolohov's body… which _of course_ wasn't really what he wanted to do. Just the fact alone that Kingsley talked so low of Malfoy and the other Death Eaters, had shocked Harry greatly. It pushed him even further and made him want to put more effort in getting his hands on Dolohov's body and sort out what this damned curse was about. It would help of course if the blond git actually would want to talk to him, and didn't just kick him out of his house. Well, it actually was Ron who stormed out of the Manor but- that didn't give Malfoy the right to refuse him from returning, did it?

As if his mind was being read, a snowy white owl appears at his window. Yellow eyes glowing and staring directly at Harry with great urgency. Confused, Harry opens the window for the white creature and searches for an owl treat in one of his desk's drawers. He doesn't know any white owls, that is to say, beside Hedwig of course. All his friends know what had happened to Hedwig and neither of them even think about getting a Snow Owl after knowing Hedwig's case. Whoever it is that sent off this white beauty to Harry probably didn't know he ever owned one himself.

The white owl takes the treat with great pleasure and even lets out a silent 'hoot' in response. As it nibbles on, Harry unwraps the letter and is surprised to see it sealed with the Malfoy crest in emerald wax. Even more curious, he tears the envelope apart and eagerly starts reading the letter. He snorts at the message but puts a smile on his face at the proposed invitation.

'Just what I need,' he whispers to himself, petting the owl hesitantly. The Snow Owl hoots in response to the affection and closes its yellow eyes for a fraction longer, almost as in appreciation. 'I can't believe you're Malfoy's owl,' Harry whispers to it. The owl just lets out another 'hoot', as if it itself can't quite believe it eiter.

 

*

 

Deciding that it's better to be on Malfoy's good side, Harry arrives 5 minutes early to the Manor. Just like last time when he came with Ron, the wards open up for him like a flower to the sunlight. The wards were set up like that after the War, letting any Auror enter the Malfoy property without permission from it's owner. To Harry it always felt like he invaded someone's privacy, even if it was that of his old enemy.

He knocks on the door twice and waits patiently, observing the craftwork in the door. It looks like a peacock surrounded by roses. A few snakes are hiding between the roses, waiting to attack their feathery pray.

Harry's eyes are still focused on the door's art when someone pulls it open from the inside. Unlike last time, it's Malfoy himself who opens the door. On his face isn't the normal scowl as usual but an expression as if someone just died; the vision of a fading soul still visible in his eyes. It wasn't exactly the mirror of Harry's small smile that he put on as the door swung open, expecting a welcoming house-elf to greet him like last time.

'Are you going to keep standing there, _smiling_ , or are you going to come in, Potter?' Malfoy says to him, rolling his eyes ever so slightly and taking a step aside.

The blond's wearing tailored robes this time, not the loose black ones he wore during his previous visit. These are a dirty emerald color, finished with shiny black buttons and a collar all the way to his jawline. Though his dressing might have peaked again, his face still looks as dead as last time; dark circles, red eyes as if he's been crying all day, skin a bit too pale to be his normal pearl complexion.

Harry takes a step into the entrance hall, closing the door behind him and then returning his eyes to Malfoy. He's standing by the stairs now, hands clutched in fists; one gloved in black leather and the other bare in its normal pale color.

'I'm sorry to say this but… you look awful, Malfoy,' Harry says to him. He already wanted to tell him that previous time but hadn't and felt like he should make the comment now. Maybe it would be a bit of an ice breaker, who knew?

Malfoy just sneers, keeping the grin on his face. 'You think so, Potter? Since when do you care what I look like?' He now turns around, placing his foot on the first marble step. 'Please follow me. And be quiet will you? I don't want Mother to know you're here.'

With that said, he starts his way up the stairs, not even looking if Harry's following or not. But of course Harry does follow him; he's way too curious for that. He also follows Malfoy through many hallways and around corridors, wondering just where the git's taking him.

Malfoy stops in front of a large black-painted door. In the wood there's a drawing of a dragon crafted, entangled with a snake. Harry doesn't even have to ask what lays beyond this door; it's obviously Malfoy's bedroom.

'Don't get any ideas, Potter,' Malfoy scowls at him before Harry even gets the time to think about it. As if he even wants to _think_ about him and Malfoy and… his bedroom. He opens the door with a loud creak and a room half the size of Hogwarts' Great Hall appears behind it.

  
Harry expects Malfoy to say something like 'welcome to my Slytherin cave', but the blond keeps his mouth in a tight line. His lost of words leaves Harry with some time to take in the room, as it's quite the sight. The ceiling and floor are both pitch black, as well as the four poster bed draped with heavy curtains. In front of it there's a small table with two chairs; they look extremely uncomfortable despite their green cushioning and Harry can't imagine Malfoy ever sitting in them unless necessary. A wooden desk is placed against a window at the right, the top invisible underneath piles of heavy old books. A few brooms, probably latest edition, are lined up on the opposite wall, making Harry's thoughts return to Quidditch matches back at Hogwarts.

The wall behind Malfoy's bed displays the cycle of the moon painted in a crescent shape, almost like a grotesque rainbow. And as Harry's observing this wall, Malfoy clears his throat a little too loud. Obviously drawing Harry's attention, the git points to the two uncomfortable chairs and sits down in one of them himself. Harry follows his example but jumps almost immediately off his chair again as Malfoy draws his wand. At least, his Mother's wand.

'Keep calm, Potter,' he replies quickly. With a small swish and flick of his wand, a tea tray appears on the table between them. Satisfied with his ability to produce beverages, he tucks his wand away in his sleeve. 'I'm not trying to hex you.'

Harry sits down again, his heart still beating rapidly but starting to slow down to a normal pace. 'So,' Harry starts, pouring some hot water in his tea cup. Without even realizing, he also automatically pours water in Malfoy's cup. 'Y-you wanted to t-talk to me about something?' Slightly thrown off by his own politeness towards the git, the words rather stumble out.

'Are you going to stutter like that the whole evening? I'd rather not have you talk like a nervous old lady, Potter. It's hard enough to have you talk to me at all,' Malfoy responds, throwing three, _three!_ , sugars in his tea and stirring the liquid with great force. 'But yes, I do have to tell you something…'

The blond lifts his tea cup and saucer, staring into the liquid like it'll bite off his nose if he dares to look away. 'It's about my Dark Mark'. Harry parts his lips, ready to say something but immediately gets interrupted again. 'And yes, I know that you saw it. My arm, that is.'

Malfoy now takes a sip from his tea, not reacting to the sugar at all. It could be bitter or ice cold for the matter, no reaction would be readable on his face. 'It was… quite black,' Harry mutters, not really sure what to say.

A chuckle follows. 'You haven't even seen all of it yet.' Malfoy's expression changes after that, from a little bit annoyed by Harry's words and presence, to an expression of terror. His gloved hand holding the saucer starts to shake lightly, making the china jingle. The pair is placed on the small table again and he folds his hands together, trying to control the shaking by holding his left hand steady with his right.

'How do you mean, all of it?' Harry searches for Malfoy's eyes but the man won't let him.

Still focused on his shaking hand, at least two minutes pass in silence. Reaching out for Malfoy's hand, Harry's surprised by his own bolt move. Before his fingertips brush the top of the pale hand, the man already looks up, grey thunderstorms directed at Harry's emeralds.

'I don't like to show it to anyone…' Malfoy says, whispers almost. It sounds like he's about to bursts into tears yet his eyes don't give anything away. They're still colored in a determined grey, surrounded by red lines of insomnia. Harry places his hand entirely atop of Malfoy's now, keeping his gaze in that of the blond's.

He sighs. 'You have to trust someone.'

Malfoy nods but his eyes show him an uncertainty, still. Harry could almost hear an inner battle going on in his head; should he trust Harry, his enemy? His opposite? But, didn't Malfoy already trust Harry with his life?

'The fact that I saw your arm last week, your _real_ arm, was a sign of the fact that you trust me… wasn't it?' Harry now asks.

Looking away, Malfoy seems to think about that for a second. He let's out a soft breath, then looks into Harry's eyes again. 'How could I not trust you after you saved my life?'

Surprised by those words, Harry pulls his hand away from Malfoy's. It results in Malfoy frowning his eyebrows, probably wondering if it was wrong to have said that.

'I see,' Harry replies. Flames in the shape of a Chinese dragon, a lion and a serpent appear in front of his eyes. Licking Malfoy's heels, chasing Crabbe and leading him towards death. It must've been horrible to Malfoy to have lost one of his closest friends, even though he mostly commanded the fool around. But also the fact that he almost lost his life because of a stupid mistake must've been hard to deal with. Especially because it had been saved by the boy who didn't want to be his friend back when he was eleven.

Harry swallows and places his hand on Malfoy's again, but this time the blond pulls away. ' _Don't_ -' he says, shaking his head. 'Don't pity me. Pity me for _this_ instead.'

That said, Malfoy starts to unbutton his robes. As every button comes loose, Harry fights thoughts that aren't supposed to interfere at a moment as serious as this. The fact that he only discovered recently that he rather fancies blokes also doesn't really help with his imagination running wild.

Trying to block off his thoughts, Malfoy continues taking off his robes. Layer after layer. It seems like Malfoy is rather fond of wearing a t-shirt, button-down and wizarding robe all at the same time. As he pulls the last bit of fabric off his head, exposing his pale, bare chest, Harry catches for breath. From his left shoulder down, Malfoy's pale skin has been replaced by pure _black_.

The leather glove also gets thrown somewhere on the floor and black slender fingers curl and uncurl themselves in front of Harry's eyes. Harry can see the curse hover at the skin's transition from his shoulder to chest, ready to take over another part of Malfoy's body.

A bit in shock and lost for words, Harry can't take his eyes off Malfoy's arm. Last week he only saw 1/4th of the curse's damage and was already utterly shocked by it. This, this is a whole new development.

'Don't catch flies, Potter,' Malfoy mutters at him. Realizing that he'd been staring quite frankly with his mouth wide open, he closes it. A sigh follows and Harry watches as a shiver goes through the other man's body.

Attention now drawn away from Malfoy's arm, he notices his bare chest; ribs sticking out as if he's already dead, collarbones ready to rip through his skin. His waist is probably smaller than Harry's thigh and he winces at it, a shiver running down his spine now as well.

'I know I don't look exactly alive, but I most certainly still am. And still would like to be,' Malfoy says to him. Again, his words come out in whispers. And before Harry has time to react to those words, a few tears roll over Malfoy's cheeks, leaving glittering trails behind.

Shifting a bit uncomfortably in his uncomfortable chair, he reaches out to take ahold of Malfoy's hands again. But he pulls them away, shaking his head slowly. The long, black fingers of his left hand then reach out for the rose that appeared together with the tea tray. It's a beautiful rose, Harry thinks before it's petals drop one by one, leaving a black wilted rose behind in Malfoy's hand.

Malfoy catches for breath to hold in a sob, followed by more tears running down his cheeks. 'I've become a monster,' he then whispers, teary eyes lifted to look straight into Harry's. 'And I need you to fix me.'

 

— End of Chapter 3 —


	4. Cry of a violin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own anything Harry Potter. Also this is my first ever Drarry/Magical fic and my Mother language also isn't English so please excuse any mistakes I made.
> 
> I want to give a shout-out to my friend Nette who reads all chapters before I post them! She always gives me great encouragements and was the reason I decided to post this story here in the first place! Thank you!

****

**04\. Cry of a Violin**

— D.M. —

 

The wards warned Draco that someone had set foot on the Malfoy property; it was just something he, as the Malfoy heir, could feel. Ancient magic twinkling within his soul. Of course it had to be Potter, who else would visit the Manor at an hour that late.

To his surprise, the _Boy-Who-Lived-To-Be-A-Mess_ arrived a few minutes earlier than the time Draco told him to come. It was a good surprise though, he had an utter dislike for late-runners.

He had been waiting in the parlor next to the entrance hall, just to make sure he could open the door before his Mother would notice. He just didn't want her to know that he invited Potter over, and especially not have her know why exactly. Though he was situated so close to the front door, and he had heard Potter's knocks loud and clearly, he still felt a little hesitant to let him back inside. Was Potter really able to help him? _Well_ , Draco thought, _you won't find out if you don't let him in and talk to you about it, will you?_

Potter wasn't wearing his Auror robes like last time but had traded them for a pair of jeans and an oversized t-shirt. Something about the man and his oversized clothes made Draco think that Potter wasn't capable of properly dressing himself. A stupid smile was visible on his face, too grin-like to be genuine. Draco's hands were itching to just slap the bastard right in the face to make it disappear, but a little voice in his head murmured that Potter looked quite… cute, smiling like that.

Almost wanting to slap himself after thinking such a thought, he drags Potter inside with a few mocking words and makes his way up the stairs. Without even realizing it, he's leading the man towards his bedroom. Out of all the 52 rooms the Manor holds, his feet had to choose his own bloody room to guide the Auror to. Oh well, at least his Mother won't easily interrupt on them in there.

Potter took his time to look around, almost looking a bit dumbfounded at the size of Draco's room. It wasn't as if there were any smaller rooms in the Manor anyway. Perhaps the cupboard was, but who would sleep in a cupboard?

The man took most of his time observing Draco's moon cycle, painted above his bed. It had always been there; at least, as long as he can remember. He asked his Mother about it when he was younger and she told him a great-great-grandfather somewhere in the Malfoy line was quite obsessed with the moon. She pointed out some other rooms in the Manor that held similar paintings of moons in different phases. The attic was apparently the old man's favorite as it had all phases, including blood moons and eclipses displayed on every inch of the walls. Now it was almost all hidden behind old, cursed objects, long forgotten by any Malfoy.

But Potter had observed his room for quite long enough. Clearing his throat and pointing towards the chairs by his bed, he sat down and made a tea tray appear with a flick of his wand. Potter, of course, thought he wanted to attack him. Like he would ever do that while sitting down, in his room, in his house. Sometimes it surprised Draco that this very man had defeated the Dark Lord; not to mention with Draco's own wand. Where would that wand be now anyway?

Feeling like getting distracted again, he tried to focus his thoughts once more. Potter wasn't really helping with that, stuttering and pouring in tea for the both of them. Since when did Potter become so friendly and polite with his school's archenemy? Draco didn't know, but he did know that this was the moment to talk to Potter about his arm, about the curse.

As if the curse didn't want him to talk about it, his hand started to shake. His tea cup and saucer jingled against each other and Draco's forced to place it back on the small table. Keeping his mind as calm as he could, he tried to stop the shaking by holding his hand down. And it is then that Potter reached out towards him, brushing over Draco's pale hands with his fingertips. The physical contact made him shiver and look up in the man's green eyes. Had they always been that green? Potter's eyes looked like morning grass, polished emeralds and even… the color of the spell of Death. 

And yes, Draco knew that Potter saw his arm last week and that it's most likely because of the fact that he does trust him indeed. How could he not trust the man after he saved him from the fiendfyre 5 years ago? Potter just has this natural urge to save people, no matter how good or bad they were. But isn't that what made him the Chosen One in the first place?

Thinking back about the fiendfyre is painful; watching one of his friends die because of the fool's own spell was something he never expected in a million years to happen. Having himself saved from that fire also was something that was on his 'not-happening' list. Yet it _did_ happen, didn't it?

Before his mind followed up on his actions, he was already unbuttoning his robes. He couldn't help but feel Potter's eyes staring at his long fingers, taking off his clothes layer by layer. Draco never liked being watched while getting undressed, or while being naked. Back at Hogwarts he would never shower together with any of his roommates nor would he change clothing in the presence of a single soul. But here he was, stripping down to his bare flesh to show Potter what had become of the man he now felt pity for.

Of course it made Draco cry, what had he expected? It was all too emotional, suffering from an unknown curse without having anyone to care about him. Not to mention the fact that he had become quite the monster; wilting roses and everything. He didn't even want to know what would happen if he accidentally touched Potter's skin; perhaps it would just burn away.

 

*

 

Now they were sitting in silence, Draco's tears all dried up and Potter looking at Draco's arm as if he could make the curse disappear if he only just stares at it long enough.

'I can't fix you, Malfoy,' he says to him after a while. 'At least, not yet. Ron and I are still trying to figure out how this curse works; how it spreads, how it started. But besides you we don't really have any other Death Eaters left to examine.'

Draco frowns. How could it be that he was the last Death Eater alive? Wasn't there anyone else left? 'What about Dolohov? I thought he was still in Azkaban, alive and well?'

Draco read something about that in the Prophet a while ago. Of course he didn't read the Prophet anymore but his Mother did, and his eyes happened to have caught a little part of an article, interviewing the so-called last Death Eater alive. Draco had snorted at that, feeling forgotten. Now it seemed like a second curse, being the last of the bunch.

Potter sighs to that and looks down at his hands. ‘That… changed. We visited Azkaban after visiting you last week and found out Dolohov had died that morning.’

‘Well, can’t you examine his body then? There must at least be something that can help in solving this?'

Potter shakes his head. ‘I’m sorry, Malfoy, but neither I or any other Auror is authorized to examine Dolohov’s body. It’s currently being examined by a special department for cursed corpses.’

Draco bites his bottom lip, grabbing his button-down from the floor and pulling it on again. No need for him to keep sitting there, exposing himself to a helpless Auror that won't be able to help him anyway. An iron tastes spreads throughout his mouth, suddenly realizing that he's biting on his lip way too hard. Hands stop moving from his buttons and he looks back at Potter with tears welling up in his eyes, yet once again.

‘They aren't even trying to cure this curse, are they?' he asks. 'I’m the only Death Easter standing, just like you said. And I’m not even standing that well, am I?'

Potter now also bites his lip, eyes away from Draco as if he doesn't dare to look into the face of disappointment.

'Can't you see I'm dying?' Draco throws his hands in the air, raising his voice just the tiniest bit. A few tears escape his eyes but he ignores them, keeps staring at Harry with great determination. But the arse doesn't even dare the look at him anymore. Doesn't even dare to look at the resemblance of near Death.

Draco jumps up from his chair, throwing the table to the floor with a single swing. China breaks to pieces on his black wooden floor, scattering bits everywhere. The wilted rose, somewhere lost in the battlefield. His hands, one black and one white, clutch themselves around the armrests of Potter's chair.

' _Look_ at me, Harry!' He shouts in his face.

Shocked by the sudden tantrum and closeness of Draco, Potter's eyes find his again; displaying something close to fear. But that look quickly fades, transforming itself into something like sadness.

‘I- I’ll try to help you, Malfoy, but I don’t know if I can,' Potter mutters, eyes still fixed on Draco's.

Suddenly aware of how close he finds himself to Potter, Draco takes a step back; only to be grabbed by his wrist by Potter's hand. His right wrist, fortunately. Draco's grey eyes stare back into Potter's greens and they're both silent for a moment.

Potter's hand feels warm and comforting on Draco's wrist, even though the grip is quite tight. But he loosens his grip, sliding his hand softly over Draco's skin and taking his hand in his. Pressing firmly into Draco's palm he whispers,'don't worry, you're not alone in this, alright? Believe it or not but I care about you.'

Draco searches for the lie in Potter's eyes but can't seem to find it. Should he be disappointed by Potter's honesty or rather disgusted? Does he even _need_ anyone to care about him? Does he need _Potter_ to care about him? Maybe he does. _Maybe you do._

Confused, Draco pulls his hand roughly out of Potter's. 'I- I don't know what to say,' he tells Potter. 'I'm a bit confused.'

His eyes search for something else to lay upon, but all they see is Potter, Potter, _Potter_. And when they find something else to focus on, it's on the wilted rose laying abandoned between chips of china.

 

*

 

A sleepless night passes by and the next early morning, Draco decides to just skip his morning walk and exchange it for something he hasn't done in a while. His feet drag him through the Manor automatically, not even hesitating about where to go. He used to get dragged to the room he's heading to a lot. Every day of his home-spent holidays, to be exact.

'You shall play, and you shall play it well,' his Mother and Father always told him. 'Being able to play an instrument is one of the oldest and finest Pureblood traditions there is.'

Mother plays the cello beautifully, his Father used to handle a piano quite well. And apparently, Draco was destined to play the violin. One of the little tower-like rooms of the Manor, hidden away from the rest of the house, was transformed into a small space where Draco could make as much noise as he wanted. A white chair, music stand and a bookcase full of written music formed the insides of the room. And of course, now found hung upon one of the walls; Draco's white violin.

His fingers slowly slide over its strings, listening to the faint sound lifting from it. It has been a long, long while since he played. Probably since the day the Dark Lord decided that the Manor would become his house, his headquarters. Draco hadn't dare to touch a single string of the violin, afraid it's sound would annoy the Dark Lord and make him pay a high price for that annoyance.

It doesn't take Draco long to choose what music piece he wants to play. His hand almost immediately reaches out for one of his favorites; [Prelude a l’apres-midi d'une Faune by Claude Debussy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P3PmqTzeyVM) _._ He remembered the day he found this very sheet of music, somewhere hidden between the pages of a potions book he lent from the Hogwart's library. Never knowing where it came from, he played it over and over again until he mastered it. And now, years later, he places the music sheet back on it's stand, lifts up the white violin to his chin and strikes the first string with utter delicacy.

It feels different, not being able to hold the violin with his bare left hand; instead, gloved and sealed. He's afraid his glove will get stuck between the violin's strings and without thinking about it; he briefly stops and takes it off. The glove lands somewhere next to his feet, abandoned like the wilted rose was earlier. His blackened fingers find their way to the strings again as if it's all they ever do, waiting for Draco's eyes to catch the next few notes. And they do; music notes flash in front of his eyes and translate to the right movements in under a second. He slowly drifts away in his own thoughts, carried away by the cry of his own violin.

The sun starts to rise slowly but Draco doesn't lift his eyes from the music sheet, too focused on finishing his piece perfectly. And oh, it's going so perfectly indeed! Slide up, slide down, left fingers moving from string to string. The sore feeling in his fingers from playing a music piece so intensively isn't there; leaving nothing but numb fingers behind. It's and odd feeling; being able to move your fingers but not really getting any sense of what's beneath their touch.

The melody comes to an end; no more notes left on the sheet. Draco lowers his violin, both hands clenched around the violin and it's bow. Eyes still focused on the music he just played, his head still caught up in its melody, he doesn't even notice tears runnings down his cheeks; making his face sticky and wet. He had never let music move him so much, but he guesses the situation for it to move him so deeply was never there.

With the violin back on the wall, Draco wipes his tears away and stares out of the small window. The sun's shining an orange gleam over the Manor's gardens again. The roses all look up at the sun, absorbing the first rays of sunshine. His eyes then focus on his hand; black as ever.

Without even noticing what he's doing, he picks up the violin's bow again. Bow positioned against his hand as if it were strings, he draws out a fine line in a single movement. Normally, the impact of the movement and the sharpness of the bow's string would leave a cut behind. Yet, nothing happens. His hand stays just as black as before; no blood, no wound, _nothing_.

It confuses Draco; only a week ago he scratched his arm so severe he caused it to bleed. It didn't led to anything but Draco had been glad that at least his arm was still able to bleed; to feel pain and to be _alive_. Now there was nothing; just blackness and the constant reminder of nearing Death.

 

*

Another week passes in silence; he doesn't hear anything from Potter nor does he feel like facing his Mother and her waterfall of questions. The mirror only shoots him snide remarks on how he should eat more these days, reflecting prominent cheekbones and bony wrists. Draco's hair doesn't even want to fall decently anymore since he became so unhealthy; since he became a cursed man living up to Death.

It isn't as if he doesn't eat, though. Three times a day he calls for Pibbly, asking if she can bring him some food. And he finishes _everything_ ; every crumb, every last drop. But he doesn't regain the weight he once was so used to.

His eyes also itch every day because of the lack of sleep; caused by nightmares haunting him with his past. A returning theme is of course the Dark Lord; moving around the Manor and making plans about killing dozens of people at a time. But his brain prefers to haunt him with the day he got his Mark; the day that led up to his current cursed situation. He never even had a choice in the first place; he _had_ to take it. That very day when he was called to the drawing room, seated upon one of the chairs. Father entered the room only minutes later, placing a hand atop his son's shoulder.

'Today, you will become one of _us_ ,' he had said.

Draco immediately knew what that meant. And of course he was scared; it was a commitment he wouldn't be able to refrain from. He could've ran away after Father's words. He could've at least done something. But he didn't. Remaining seated in one of the wooden chairs of the drawing room, he waited for his faith. Taking the Dark Mark, produced by the Dark Lord's wand, was the most painful feeling Draco had ever experienced in his entire life. And it will probably remain that way for the rest of his life. It felt like his skin was burning away; a million snakes moving underneath his skin. Yet he didn't dare to scream, protest or make a single expression with his face.

He had to take it. It was his faith. It was his _destiny_.

Hadn't it all led up to that moment; the moment he would become one of _them_? A true Death Eater? A child's fantasy, it was. Draco's fantasy. But that day; it wasn't his fantasy anymore. It had become like a duty; a way of protecting his family.

And every night since that day, he would dream about the terrible pain he felt and about the mistake he made. _I should've ran away_ , he keeps saying to himself when waking up from the nightmare. _I should've ran away with Mother from the moment he had returned._

Now he's stuck; stuck in what's meant to be a peaceful time. A post-war time. Yet, Draco is still battling a war; a war with himself, the curse and _Voldemort_.

 

*

 

On a Monday morning he hears the sound of a bird's beak ticking against his bedroom window. Still dressed in green silk pajamas and sweaty from another nightmare, he crawls out of bed and makes his way to the feathery creature. It's an old Barn Owl with a beautiful round face, staring at Draco with jet black eyes. He's brought a small package with him and a letter, both tied multiple times with a red and gold ribbon.

' _Potter_ ,' Draco whispers to himself. Which other _Gryffindor_ would send him a package or even a letter? There was only one in this Wizarding World crazy enough to do that.

Curious about what it could be, he unwraps the package as fast as he can. A downsized book appears within, staring at Draco and eagerly waiting for him to enlarge it again. A quick run to his nightstand and back for his wand, followed by a whispered ' _Engorgio_ ' enlarges the tiny book to its full size again.

' _Mastering Black; Curious Curses and Peculiar Potions_ ,' Draco reads out loud. He's never heard of this particular book before, and judging by it's worn-out cover it has to be quite old.

Even more curious to know where Potter was able to find a book that actually would be quite helpful; he quickly reads the letter.

 

_Malfoy,_

_First of all I want to apologize for not letting you hear from me for an entire week; I actually had no sense of time as I was working on finding a cure for your curse every second of the day. Besides that, I was also trying to get my hands on Dolohov's body every way possible._

_No success on either of those subjects yet, unfortunately._

_But,_ and you might not like this _, I talked to Hermione (Granger) about your current condition. I know you don't want other people to know about it but you can be sure that she won't tell a single soul about the curse. She was actually quite interested in knowing every detail about it and is eager to help me find a solution for it. Well, maybe not as eager as I am but you know… she has a good heart._

 _Anyway, she has been doing some research and after going through a thousand books; she found_ this _interesting one. Believe it or not; she found it at the Forbidden Section at the Hogwarts library. Wouldn't surprise me if Riddle read this book in his Hogwarts days; preparing to master the curse of blackening skin to his future followers._

 _I hope you find it as interesting as Hermione and I did. (Ron found it hard to read; but he's_ Ron _.)_

_And yes, I also told Ron about the curse. He's also an Auror, as you know, and together I think we can sort out things faster at the Ministry. So please, don't be too mad at me for telling two other people about it. You can trust them; we're the Golden Trio, remember?_

_Ok. That sounded silly. I'm starting to sound silly, aren't I?_

_And another silly thing; I felt sorry for you destroying your set of china so I sent a tea cup along with the book… hope you'll like it?_

_I'll visit again tomorrow if that's alright. Around_ _9:30pm_ _like last time?_

_Potter_

 

Tea cup? Draco didn't see a tea cup in the package, did he? Looking at the small box again, he then notices a tiny little item the size of a pearl. Actually, it seems to be a pearl. A ' _Reparifarge_ ' later the pearl has transfigured itself back to it's original shape; a china tea cup with an ugly drawing of a peacock displayed on one side and that of a misshaped snake on the other.

Letting out a sneer at the sight of the cup, Draco places it down on his desk. He needs to think about all the things Potter said for a second. Dropping himself down on the chair by his desk, he rereads the letter.

Potter told his friends about the curse, about his arm. Did Draco mind it a lot? _No_ , not really. He knows the so called _Golden Trio_ was most trustworthy out of probably every Wizard or Witch in the entire world. Yet, he also feels a little annoyed by it. Three _Gryffindors_ now know about his condition; three people that are supposed to be his enemies, his opposites. And they are willing to _help_ him. How much more weird can the world get?

He feels quite glad that Potter hasn't given up on Dolohov's body yet, though. Draco has a suspicion that there could be something, a clue or whatever, to be learnt from the death man's body. If only he wouldn't feel so _damn_ weak he maybe would be able to go to the Ministry himself; claiming his rights to get treated like every other Wizard.

 _Let Potter take care of it_ , he thinks to himself. If _The-Boy-Who-Lived-Twice_ can't even get his hands on the body, why would _Draco-Death-Eater-Malfoy_ can? He can only encourage Potter in his head; hope for the best and pray that his sneaky behavior from his Hogwarts days haven't faded away yet.

Letting out a deep sigh, he picks up the tea cup again and stares at the ugly drawings. Potter probably drew the animals himself. His shaky and clumsy hands picking up a paint brush to draw silly figures of a peacock and snake; Malfoy symbols. And as Draco sits there staring at the tea cup, rain softly falling outside his window like glitter, he realizes that he loves it.

 

— H.P. —

 

'I need your help, _Harry_ ,' Malfoy shouts at him, his face only inches away.

It takes a moment for Harry to process everything that's going on. _One_ ; Malfoy is right in his face. _Two_ ; he's calling for his help quite desperately. And _three_ ; he just called him by his first name. Malfoy just called him _Harry_.

Malfoy has never called him Harry before and is also the kind of person that never, in his entire life, would've had the intention in doing so. Yet, he just did. How desperate must a man be to cross a boundary he had set for himself at the age of 11? They had always been Malfoy and Potter. Not _Draco_ and _Harry_. Even the sound of their given names sounds wrong in Harry's head. 

It makes Harry feel sad; suddenly realizing that Malfoy is on the edge of losing himself. And not even losing himself to just anything, no; once again a soul is slowly losing itself to Voldemort.

‘I- I’ll try to help you, Malfoy, but I don’t know if I can,' he mutters to him, eyes still fixed on Malfoy's. The man's grey eyes have tiny blue spots in them; almost like blue freckles. And his eyelashes are so, so _white_. Have they always been so white? The faint lemony scent hanging around the blond makes his head spin a little and confused. Why is he noticing all these things?

Aware of how close the other man finds himself to his former archenemy, he takes a step away from Harry's chair. _No,_ Harry thinks, _don't go!_ And before Harry even realizes what he's doing, his hand is already clenched tight around Malfoy's wrist; his thumb easily touching his other fingers. _His wrist is so small_ , Harry thinks to himself. _Since when?_

Malfoy's eyes find Harry's again but their expression is blank with maybe a hint of confusion. Harry must admit he's quite confused about his move as well. Is it to reassure Malfoy? Maybe it is. Or maybe it's just because he doesn't want him to leave; to be alone in this. It feels like his hand is burning a hole through Malfoy's cold, pale skin and slowly he decides to loosen his grip and take the man's hand instead. To his surprise, Malfoy's palm feels warm and _alive_ compared to the coolness of his arm. He presses into it firmly, this time sure that it's a reassuring gesture to do.

'Don't worry, you're not alone in this, alright? Believe it or not but I care about you,' he then whispers to him.

Malfoy roughly pulls his hand out of Harry's. 'I- I don't know what to say,' he replies. 'I'm a bit confused.' 

Harry sighs and lifts his shoulders slightly. 'That's alright. It's only normal for you to be confused, I would be too.'

He takes another deep breath and watches how Malfoy sits down again, right hand going through his blond hair. _What would his hair feel like?_ Harry blinks a few times. Did he just think that or- or did he just think that?

'I just can't get my head around you actually wanting to help me, Potter. Out of all people,' Malfoy then says to him. The blond's eyes are still staring into nothingness, his hand making his hair a resemblance of Harry's own. 'I've always thought you utterly detested me.'

Harry shrugs. 'I guess I hated you back at Hogwarts… but that has changed. The- the moment it changed isn't really a good memory to the both of us, but- do we have any good memories of each other to start with?'

A sigh, almost inaudible, leaves Draco's lips. 'I don't think we do, no…' he replies. 'And I know what moment you're talking about and I'd like to hear why exactly. Surely it wasn't because you saw me cry, right? Seeing me, _the blond ferret_ , cry was probably your biggest dream come true, wasn't it, Potter?'

Harry shakes his head. 'I never would've wanted to see you cry, Malfoy. I hate seeing people cry, actually. I guess I'm a bit weak when it comes to handling others their emotions.' Malfoy's lips curl into the tiniest of smiles at that, his eyes glancing over at Harry for just a second. 'My perspective on you changed after I cast the Sectumsempra spell. It's a spell only meant for enemies, you know. And as I tried it on you, but regretted it immediately, I knew you weren't an enemy to me at all. Realizing that I didn't hate you followed quite easily after that.'

Malfoy is silent after those words; looking lost in his thoughts. Minutes pass by and just as Harry thinks he should just leave; the mans opens his mouth briefly.

'Actually, I-I think I've always been more jealous of you than that I felt hate towards you. I hated you because I wanted to be you, or at least, be your friend.'

His grey eyes find Harry's again and within them there's nothing close to a lie; only truth and sadness. 'I'm sorry about that…'

'Sorry about what?'

'You know… not being your friend. Not accepting your hand all those years ago. But you must admit; you were quite the spoiled brat.'

The small smile Harry saw around Malfoy's lips before now appears again, staying there for a few moments longer than previous time. It's an appealing sight, actually; Malfoy smiling. He almost looks healthy and… not like a pointy git. 

'I may have been a little wealthy at the age of 11. Straightforward. Smart. Slytherin. Not to mention incredibly talented and fully aware of that. But, I must admit that your denial made me push that little extra harder every day. It made me want to be better than you or any of your friends at as much as I could.'

It's true; Malfoy would've been the best student in every class as it wasn't for Hermione. Hermione out stood him in most classes expect for potions. It must have been hard for Malfoy to deal with the fact that a _Mudblood_ was smarter than him. But something about today's Malfoy tells Harry that he would never think so low of Hermione again; that he changed. Something changed the man greatly after the War.

'I've always thought you were amazing at Quidditch and Potions, if you wish to receive compliments on something,' Harry tells him. He shrugs and looks Malfoy's brooms, displayed on his dark bedroom wall.

Malfoy sneers a little. 'I'm not sure what to compliment you on, Potter. I must agree that you were good at Quidditch as well; as you won almost every match you played. Yet, you must admit that you never had a Ravenclaw brain, did you?'

It makes Harry let out a short laugh; just present enough to make Malfoy frown. Apparently the blond isn't used to making people smile. But it's true what he said; Harry never really liked studying. Maybe if there wasn't a man-slaughtering Wizard he had to defeat throughout his childhood, he would've had more time for studying. Or at least; for trying to study

Another silence falls between the two and it's only then that Harry notices that it has started to rain again. The darkness outside Malfoy's window wouldn't tell, but the soft sounds of falling raindrops make Harry aware of it. How much time has passed since he arrived at the Manor? He doesn't know.

Lost in his thoughts about raindrops and time, he doesn't notice Malfoy's simple wand flicks to clean up the mess he made earlier. The shattered pieces of china collect themselves into a small pile next to the wilted rose. A screeching sound lifts the small table up again and Malfoy's wand once again disappears.

'I think it's time for me to go,' Harry says to him.

Malfoy nods and stands up, avoiding Harry's eyes again. In complete silence he guides Harry back towards the entrance hall, to the giant wooden door with the peacock, the snake and the rose bushes.

Standing still in the doorway for another moment, Harry faces Malfoy again and finds his grey eyes. They once again looks sad and lost. A soft frown of eyebrows. His right pale hand placed on the wooden door with much delicacy. How could a man be so gracious without even trying?

'I'll come back… don't worry,' he tells him. It's something he had to tell Malfoy; to reassure him once again, to not let him lose hope. 'We'll figure this out.'

Malfoy blinks a few times with his eyes, then drops them a little. The gesture is followed by a slow nod and a push of the pale hand against the dark wood. The heavy door falls shut and Harry is left alone on the doorstep of the Manor, raindrops falling around him with a soft drop, drop, drop.

 

*

 

Tree tops dipped in orange paint; mornings always seem like a masterpiece to Harry. The smell of wet grass, a gust of cold wind flying through his window. He tried to live at 12 Grimmauld Place for a year after the War, but the house just didn't want him in it. Of course he could've hired a curse-breaker or ask Hermione for help but at the same time he knew he didn't want to live there. The house had a dark past and every room held a memory of Sirius; the only true family member he ever knew in his life. Kreacher still lived in the house, though; all alone like he had for many years prior. The house-elf didn't mind; he grew quite fond of being alone. Besides, he always had Walburga's portrait to shout at him must he ever feel lonely.

So Harry moved to a small house amidst the trees; a large forest next to a quiet Muggle village. He found the house by accident while wandering through the forest on a lazy Sunday afternoon. It was as if his feet dragged him to the small building by themselves; destination already decided. Hidden behind some trees he saw a small window, quickly followed by the rest of the small house. Overgrown by nature and on the edge of what seemed to be a cliff with a river at its bottom, the house called out to him. A week later he could call the house his and a few of the surrounding forest ground of it as well.

Using the floo network or by apparation he could easily access the Ministry for his job and return to a calm and peaceful environment afterwards. Hermione helped him to expand the house on the inside and Ron fixed some of the outdoor problems. And now, 4 years after, the house amidst the trees is still the perfect place to live for Harry.

The soft sound of running water catches his ears as he moves closer to the window, his hands clenched around a mug of tea. He has to see his best friends today; tell them what he learnt from Malfoy yesterday. The man told him not to tell anyone but keeping this a secret from Ron and Hermione would probably kill him in the end. And he could use some wise advice from Hermione; maybe she knew something about blackening curses.

Wasting no more time, he firecalls his friends. Ron and Hermione's living room appears within seconds; a cozy space similar to the Gryffindor common room. Hermione's sitting on the couch, baby Rose in her arms. She jumps a little at seeing Harry's head appear in the fire but relaxes quickly.

'Harry! What are you doing in my fireplace so early?' she says to him.

Harry smiles at her. 'I need to talk to you, and Ron.'

With a small nod she disappears out of the room and returns a minute later with Ron on her heels. They both sit back down on the couch, eagerly waiting for what Harry's going to say. Rose makes an anticipating sound as well; as if she's also ready to hear an exciting story.

'It's about Malfoy. I visited him again yesterday evening,' Harry starts.

Immediately Ron's face draws into confusion. 'Malfoy? But we visited him only a week ago and he was completely fine,' he replies with a frown.

'Well… I haven't been completely honest with you about our visit to Malfoy Manor last week,' Harry says, taking a deep breath. 'He cast a concealment charm on his arm but it didn't work for me, so I saw something different than your eyes.'

Ron keeps the frown on his face while Hermione nods slowly. 'I can believe that,' she replies.

'How do you mean? Why would Harry see something else than me?' Ron seems to be even more confused now, looking from Hermione to Harry and back.

'It's not important… But Malfoy's case is. He's suffering from the same curse as Dolohov and probably all the other Death Eaters before they died.'

'You mean he's suffering from that Dark Mark curse?' Ron asks and Harry replies with a firm nod. 'B-but I didn't see anything; only a faded Dark Mark on the git's pale arm.'

'Well, his arm isn't that pale anymore. It's quite… black.'

'Black? How do you mean black, Harry?' Hermione now asks. She holds Rose tighter in her arms, as if the child will turn black any second as well.

Harry sighs. 'The curse that spreads from his Dark Mark slowly turns his entire body into the color black. It has spread quite far already; leaving no spot on Malfoy's left arm nor hand the pale white shade they once were. It's quite… frightening.'

Both his friends are silent after that; staring at Harry as if he's not there anymore. Baby Rose keeps making silent sounds but the couple ignores it, lost in their thoughts. It seems like they're both imaging Malfoy with a black arm and thinking about what to do about it at the same time.

'I-I know it's Malfoy, but- there must be something we can do to help him, right?' Harry says to them after the painful silence. He promised Malfoy he would help him; he promised he would care.

Hermione sighs, looks at Ron and then back at Harry. 'I don't know, Harry. I never heard of a curse like that before. But- But I'll try my best.'

With that said, the woman with her wild curls stands up and leaves the room; probably on her way to the library in their house with Rose still in her arms. Ron stares at the spot where Hermione sat for another few seconds before facing his best friend again.

'Alright, mate. I'll help you as well. But I'm doing it for _you_ , not for the ferret,' he says to Harry.

'Thanks, Ron. Can you maybe look into this new cursed corpse department? I already did some research but am still really stuck at where in the Ministry I can find them or what it is exactly that they do.'

Ron nods and stands up as well. He lifts his hand up a second as a farewell and Harry draws back from his fireplace. Bird songs resound through his ears immediately and the tranquility of his house in the forest returns. A bit clumsy he gets up from his knees and walks over to his window. The bird's view on the river below never gets old. He picks up his mug again and drops himself back on a chair. Taking another sip of his tea he suddenly thinks about Malfoy destroying his set of china by a single flick of his hand.

Harry sighs. _Why_ , he says to himself as he gets up again and walks over to his kitchen counter. His hand finds the plain white tea cup easily and with great delicacy he places it down on his dining table. Now where did he leave this blue paint he used for the china tiles in his bathroom? Remembering the little renovation project makes a smile appear on his face. He wishes he could go back to that time again; just him working on his little house all by himself. Not because someone told him to work on it but because he wanted to.

 

*

 

Another week later the Malfoy-personalized tea cup he made for whatever reason are sent off together with the book Hermione found for him at the Hogwart's library. Harry used his Barn owl for the job; the owl that he found hooting at his forest house's window a few weeks after moving in. Not really wanting to create a replacement for Hedwig, he decided to just call the owl 'Owl' and get it over with. The owl came whenever he called and delivered messages perfectly; yet he still didn't want to build a relationship with it. Too afraid he'll loose such a beautiful creature once again.

The whole week he and Ron had been exploring every inch of the Ministry's building; trying to find the department for cursed corpses. With no success yet, they hoped at least Hermione found something in the meantime. And she did indeed; the book on blackening curses held a lot of information on how to slow down the spreading of a blackening curse and what it could have caused. Hopefully it would help Malfoy a bit until they found something new. Or finally got their hands on the Death Eater's body.

 

— End of Chapter 4 —


	5. A corpse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own anything Harry Potter. Also this is my first ever Drarry/Magical fic and my Mother language also isn't English so please excuse any mistakes I made.
> 
> Thank you so much for all the kudos! I hope to upload at least once a week so make sure to check for updates regularly!

**05\. A corpse**

— D.M. —

 

Potter arrives early again; just as previous time. Knocking twice, silence as the man waits. No smile this time; only a guessing look in his eyes. Almost a blank look, as if he doesn't know what to think.

'Something wrong?' Draco asks him. He's not entirely sure why he asks Potter just that; the look could mean anything. A gut feeling, that's what it is.

A sigh follows and Potter enters the Manor again, passing Draco by the doorway with a single wide step. 'It's nothing really… I just hoped I'd find out more by now. Disappointing you isn't something I want to do, you know.'

Draco frowns. 'How do you mean disappointing me? You found that book, didn't you?'

'Hermione did. I- I didn't find _anything_ at the Ministry. I can't even find that stupid new department.'

Potter messes up his messy hair a little more and sighs once again. He's not wearing his dark Auror robes like the last two times Draco saw him. Exchanged for a set of burgundy ones, totally _Gryffindor_ style, with golden buttons and a high neck. It reminds Draco a bit of the Durmstrang uniforms minus all the fur. It's not an awful sight; more an interesting one as the sleeves are too long for Potter yet the clothes fit too tight around his chest. _Not capable of dressing himself, ever._

Draco himself chose to wear one of his finer robes again; a navy blue set with the slightest silver pattern of snakes visible on it. A plain navy stroke of fabric draped over his right shoulder and a prominent black collar sticking out underneath the heap to snug up to his jawline. Robes that hide away as much of his skin as possible are his favorite; minimal exposure to the outside world.

'Shall we go upstairs?' he asks Potter after a minute of silence. A nod follows and together they walk up the stairs, Potter remembering the way perfectly. Is it an Auror thing? Who knows.

They sit down on the uncomfortable chairs again and Draco makes a new tea tray appear with a flick of his wand. No rose this time and Draco's china tea cup has been replaced by the one Potter so kindly made for him. It makes his cheeks turn pink a little; maybe he should've just tucked it away somewhere, acting like he never got it.

'You're using it!' Is Potter's immediate reaction. A smile appears on his face, making his lightning bolt scar a little more crooked. Draco never noticed that before, but it's an interesting detail to the man's face.

He nods at his reaction, pouring in some tea for the both of them; the scent of bergamot tickling his nostrils in seconds. He's always been rather fond of Earl Grey tea; it relaxes all his muscles perfectly. There's a whole cabinet in the Manor's kitchen providing every kind of Earl Grey tea you can find in both the Wizarding as the Muggle world. Collected over many years; only the finest tea gets served at Malfoy Manor.

Potter touches his glasses ever so slightly and rearranges himself on his chair. ‘So, have you taken a look inside that book yet?’ he asks him.

Draco nods. It was the first thing he did after receiving it from Potter’s barn owl. ‘It’s really interesting, and also has a lot of curses, spells and potions described that could’ve caused my condition.’

‘But?’

‘But I don’t think it’ll be helpful in my case.’

‘How do you mean? It had a spell in there to slow the spreading process! We can try that out at least, can’t we?’

‘We can, Potter. But am I seriously the only one that reads the spell’s description? For the spell to work it has to be cast by the same wand or Wizard who cast the curse in the first place. I don’t really see _you_ resurrecting Voldemort again or break into Dumbledore’s grave to steal the Elder Wand like he did, am I right? Don’t get me wrong; the Prophet would _love_ a good headline about a mad Potter disturbing the peaceful death of his former headmaster.’

Taking a sip of his hot tea, after stirring three sugar cubes through the herbal mixture, he takes in Potter's reaction with a satisfied look in his eyes. As to why he feels so satisfied, he doesn't know. Maybe because he outsmarted his plan? But wasn't the plan to help Draco in the first place? Everything is so hard to figure out nowadays…

Potter sighs and slumps in his chair a little. ‘I didn’t read that, I must admit. But maybe there’s another spell or another way... there must at least be something in the damned book that’ll help you.’

Lifting his shoulders, Draco gets up to his feet and retrieves the book from his desk. As he hands it over to Potter, their hands touch slightly; the warmth of Potter's fingers radiating through Draco's leather glove. It makes his heart skip a beat; he felt that! He felt the _warmth_! 

Not having felt anything for weeks makes this small thing something big to Draco; he can at least feel the touch of someone else with his black arm. Afraid he never would be able to feel anything anymore besides from the slight pressure whenever he touched something, is a happy relief. It even makes the tiniest of smile appear on his face.

‘What about this one? A curse that causes ink to spread throughout one’s body and stay there permanently?’ Potter interrupts on his thoughts.

The book lays opened on his lap, fingers clenched around the delicate pages. At least now Draco knows where all the dents and wrinkles came from. The man's green eyes stare at the page intensely and then lift up to look in Draco's, who quickly hides his tiny smile.

‘Sounds to me like a large tattoo rather than what I’m experiencing,' he answers.

‘Yeah, you’re right.' He flips through the book some more, the pages crying at every brutal flip. 'And this one? Caused by a potion but the spreading can be described as clouds hovering over one’s skin. Something that you experienced?’

‘Could be, but I’m fairly sure my curse was caused by a _spell_ , not a potion. Besides, the clouds are hovering underneath my skin rather than above. If they hovered above; the black wouldn’t be permanent.’

Potter nods firmly and keeps silent; instead flips even more determinedly through the book. Scanning page after page; minutes pass by. Draco makes another cup of tea for himself and keeps his eyes on Potter. Something just makes him keep his eyes on the man. The way he looks at the pages, pushes his glasses further up his nose, scratches his forehead or goes through his messy hair; it all makes Draco so- so _mesmerized_ almost. It's like he's getting hypnotized by a studying Potter.

‘Well, there’s always one of the simpler spells mentioned here that would prevent it from spreading. At least we could try that?’ Potter says with a sigh after going through the entire book.

Draco shrugs. A simple spell wouldn’t hurt him, right? He’s dying anyway; wether Potter casts stupid spells on him or not. He could at least try, couldn't he? Potter tried so hard himself already; flipping through that book all intensively and everything. Probably the first time in ages the man had made his brain work that hard.

 

*

 

A few moments later Potter’s wand is directed at his chest, green eyes serious and eyebrows frowned. Heavy book dangling in his other hand, eyes flicking from the page back to Draco. Why did Draco agree to this again?

‘I thought it was a simple spell?’ Draco asks him, hands behind is back and grey eyes pointed at Potter’s clumsy balancing.

‘It’s simple but rather long. And Latin.’

Draco must be honest that he's never seen Potter as quite the Ravenclaw; brave, yet but smart, definitely not. And especially not intelligent enough to know such a beautiful language as Latin. Draco on the other hand had always been keen on studying and languages were part of that; Latin, French, a little bit of Dutch and the basics of many other European languages were key to becoming a decent Pureblood heir for the Malfoy family. Besides from it being highly beneficial in his future life, it was also something Draco rather enjoyed personally. It had actually surprised him highly that the Sorting Hat didn't second guess a place for him in Ravenclaw. The family disaster it must've caused was good enough for Draco to not regret it's decision, though.

Potter's Latin sounds like a lot of mumbling but Draco catches something that could be translated to ' _spread no more_ ' in the spell. With the words so _carefully_ pronounced, a bright spark of golden stars leaves Potter’s wand followed by red flames. They hit Draco hard in the chest, making him stumble a few steps back. His new china cup he got from Potter jiggles against it’s tiny saucer on the small table and another few trinkets in Draco’s room make themselves present with tiny sounds.

Nothing happens for a while; he doesn't feel anything nor see anything special he isn't supposed to see. He just feels the same as he did before; empty, hollow and still on the verge of Death. Potter stares so intensely at him as if to make the spell react by his fearful look. After another few minutes he relaxes his intense stair and his muscles, slumping his shoulder and taking a step closer to Draco.

‘Did it work?’ he asks anxiously and Draco shrugs. He doesn’t know. He-

And there it is again; the terrible itching feeling followed by an immense pain. His knees start to shake and he collapses to the floor, hands spread out and heart beating faster than ever. Potter follows almost as fast; hand on Draco’s shoulder with great worry. Potter’s warm hand intensifies the pain and Draco roughly pushes it away. His hands find the buttons of his robes again and they’re off before he knows; leaving him once again vulnerable and half-naked in front of Potter. The curse crawls over his collarbone, making a way towards his neck and leaving Draco's eyesight within seconds.

‘N-not my face, not m-my face...’ he whispers to himself, grabbing for his neck with his hands.

His nails scratch down his throat, trying to stop the invisible curse and praying that it won't spread further than what he can see. Fortunately Potter's voice is there quickly to reassure him.

'Don't worry, it-it didn't spread to your face. It stopped at your Adam's apple. It's alright, you're alright,' he says. His words come out with loud breaths, anxious breaths. It's almost as if Potter's more scared than Draco. At least; more worried.

The man grabs his hands now, both his leather gloved and pale one. Draco feels his own sweat mix with Potter’s as they both sit on the floor staring into nothingness. The pain slowly drifts away and another tear leaves Draco's cheek, making him feel weak once again. Why does he always have to cry in front of Potter?

‘Get- get me a mirror,’ he tells him after taking a few breaths.

Potter jumps up to his feet and searches for one. It seems to be taking ages but finally the man discovers the small silver mirror on Draco's bedside table. Draco takes it from him with a shaking hand, immediately looking at his own pale reflexion. The curse didn't spread as much as he thought it did; it indeed stopped around his Adam's apple. His left collarbone has become black as well, though, forming a long line from his shoulder to his throat.

Draco drops the mirror to the floor, hands, arms, everything feeling so weak. He wants to cry but tears don't want to come anymore, he wants to be angry but can’t find the words to be so. As he sits there on the floor, figuring out his emotions, he feels a hand go through his hair. And when he looks up it’s into green emeralds behind golden spectacles; Potter’s soft and- and _beautiful_ eyes. Full of reassurance; full of _hope_. And it makes him cry. It once again makes him _cry_.

 

 

*

 

'I'm sorry about what I did,' Potter says to him.

They're sitting back down on the uncomfortable chairs, Draco making his third cup of tea and wiping in his itching red eyes every few seconds. Fully dressed again, he suddenly realizes that the warmth of Potter's body close to his own can't compare to the warmth of clothes. The hugging collar around his neck can't reassure him the same way as Potter's hand could while going through his hair. It makes him dizzy, thinking all these things. He shouldn't be thinking those things; he should think about surviving and leaving Potter out of all this mess as much as possible.

'It's not your fault. Probably some spell Voldemort hid away in the curse somewhere; reacting to any counter spell cast upon it.'

Three sugar cubes disappear in the hot water again, the peacock on the china cup slightly shaking its head in disgust. It makes Potter snort and Draco look up in confusion.

'I didn't know my paintings could move,' he explains.

'Magic,' Draco replies with a sigh.

'Magic indeed,' the man says with a little smile.

Suddenly feeling bolt, Draco stops stirring his tea and places his teaspoon back down. 'What actually happened between you and the Weasel girl?'

Choking a little on his tea after this question, Potter avoids looking into Draco's eyes and places the cup back on the table with much delicacy. He bites his bottom lip and shrugs. 'It's complicated.'

'Isn't everything,' Draco replies.

Potter let's out a snort. 'Right… I guess I own you some stories about my private life after all I know about you now. At least, what I'm finding out about you.'

His green eyes find Draco's greys again and this time it's Draco who looks away. Potter is interested in his life? Since when?

'Anyway; it just didn't work out between us. She wanted to become a full-time Quidditch player, traveling from place to place. I wanted to try become an Auror and therefore I needed to stay here, near the Ministry. Besides, I'm not sure if I ever loved her truly. The way she deserved, that is.'

Draco nods. He could believe that; the Weasel girl had always been very good at playing Quidditch. There was not a single thing wrong with her technique and growing up with so many brothers probably made her a tough woman. And yes, Draco had also always known Potter would end up being an Auror; it was only natural for him to do so, saving the world until he would collapse under its weight. Yet Potter would've made a very good teacher at Hogwarts as well if he must believe all the stories from that Dumbledore Army back in fifth year.

'What about you, actually? Never got married to another Pureblood girl?' Potter asks him.

'I've always had enough Pureblood girls to choose from when I was younger. But after the War every Witch and Wizard knew what I had done and what I had become; a pathetic Death Eater. Fighting at the wrong side had made it impossible for me to find anyone willing to marry me,'

Potter is silent at that and Draco decides to continue.

'But it never really mattered to me wether I got married or not; it's more something Father was so keen on. Of course Mother would've loved to have a grandchild but I don't really see myself as the perfect figure to become a father.'

'I-I'm not sure either if I would be an ideal father. I never really had a father myself and sometimes when I babysit Teddy I feel like I say ' _yes_ ' to too many things. That's mainly because I always got refused everything when I was a child,' Potter says. 'But I'm happy I at least have him.'

'He's related to me, isn't he?'

Draco thinks about the small child for a moment even though he has never seen him before. In his mind the child has the same scars as Lupin and brown hair just like his; a tiny werewolf with pointy teeth. He remembers when the Dark Lord had ' _congratulated_ ' his family on the marriage of the werewolf to their cousin and how Bellatrix had fought against any recognition of it. But that was a long time ago, a time that had to be forgotten.

'He indeed is, yes. Andromeda, your mother's sister is taking care of him,' Potter explains.

Andromeda. It had been a _long_ time since he'd heard his aunt's name. Mother didn't like to talk about her sister; she was supposed to be forgotten. Draco had always been rather curious to know why a Pureblood woman had given up her life of wealth and prestige for the life with a Muggle. Of course now he could understand her actions; love is stronger than any other emotion. 

'I see,' Draco simply replies. He takes another sip from his tea and takes in Potter once more. The man looks a little messier than he did when walking in. His robes look more wrinkled, his hair a gigantic mess and his glasses are slightly crooked. It almost looks as if _he_ was the one that collapsed on the floor only an hour ago.

The smallest of smiles appears on Draco's face and of course it doesn't go unnoticed. Potter's mouth follows almost as quickly; making a wide smile appear and flashing bright teeth at Draco. Because the man looks so utterly stupid, sitting there all messy and uncomfortable but still smiling, Draco smiles brightly as well. It even hurts his cheeks a little; it has been _that_ long since he smiled that wide.

'You're smiling!' Potter points out, still smiling brightly himself.

'Is that so odd to you, Potter?' Draco replies, eyes staring directly into green.

'It is actually. I don't believe I've ever seen you smile like that in my entire life! It's so not- not _you_ ,'

Draco's smile disappears a little at that and he frowns his eyebrows a little. 'You're right. I shouldn't be sitting here, smiling while I'm not even happy. It's pathetic, isn't it?'

A little surprised by that reaction Potter's smile disappears as well and he reaches out with his hand, taking Draco's in his again. The warmth fills Draco's inside and makes his cheeks flush ever so slightly.

'Even a cursed man can still be happy from time to time, you know. What I meant is that you're normally an annoying git; smirking and throwing evil glances at everything. A-and I actually think I liked that smile the most out of every look you ever gave me,' he tells him.

Confused, Draco pulls his hand out of Potter's and stands up. Pushing an imaginary strand of hair out of his face he tries to focus on something else that is not Potter's face. 'I-I think it's time for you to go.'

 

*

 

It keeps raining. May; an entire month of rain. A pool of cold liquid, a pool of tears. June announces itself with a few bird's songs but more drops and no sign of nearing heat. Summer must still be on some holiday because it isn't showing itself. At least, not yet.

The Manor is more quiet than usual as Draco doesn't dare to leave his room anymore. There has been no more curse spreading since that day with Potter, fortunately. Maybe that simple spell somehow worked anyway. Besides from the soft sounds of a cello being played by Mother, it's awfully silent in the cold house. Pibbly brings him food as usual; only saying something to him when highly necessary. Leaving with empty food trays and leaving behind an empty Draco as well. Draco's weight loss has peaked and doesn't seem to change anymore; leaving him on the edge of being very skinny and near anorexic.

Potter sent him a few more letters; explaining that he found some clues of where the department of cursed corpses could be found. He and the Weasel were planning on breaking into the department using Potter's good old invisibility cloak as soon as they would find it. Draco could only hope the Ministry's wards were too weak for something as simple as that. But wasn't Potter's cloak one of the best ones in the entire Wizarding World? At least, that's what he said in his letter.

Granger apparently found out that there was a similar case to Draco's in Bulgaria. A Wizard had suffered from a blackening curse that eventually led up to his death. The curse was caused by a special Mark he had taken from his Master; an ancient ritual that had gone alright for many centuries prior. But somehow it still had gone wrong; probably due to mispronunciation of some of the bonding spells. The exact details were still very vague and the Golden Trio considered visiting Bulgaria together with Draco if they wouldn't find anything helpful on Dolohov's body. Apparently one of the many Weasels lived in Bulgaria amongst dragons, making it easy for them to arrange a future visit. The thought alone left Draco shivering; even though his name meant dragon, it didn't mean he also liked the fire-blowing creatures that much.

All of that was for the future, though. Right now they were all relying on Dolohov's body to have that one single clue they needed to solve the mystery that was this curse. Never had Draco thought that the Death Eater would become so helpful; he'd never liked the man at all. Always listening to Voldemort without hesitation, killing many in his name and torturing any Wizard or Witch that crossed his path unwillingly.

Draco's sitting on his bed now, back against a heap of pillows and many books spread over his sheets. After yet another day of research through many dark books of the Malfoy library, he feels utterly exhausted. Pibbly brought him some hot chocolate; almost as an encouragement to something she doesn't know anything about. The hot chocolate is nothing compared to the one he used to drink at Hogwarts; but it's good enough. It fills his cold body and soul with warmth, making him feel ready to just push a little further in his search.

As he reaches out to a book he's read already a few times before; he hears the soft hooting of an owl outside his window. The round face of Potter's Barn owl appears in sight; staring through his window with shiny black eyes.

Crawling off his bed he hurries to the window and takes the small note from the owl. The parchment is wrinkled and Potter's handwriting is messier than ever.

_Saw Dolohov's corpse._

_New developments._

_Will be over tonight._

_HP_

— H.P —

 

Visiting Malfoy again left Harry with mixed feelings. Every time he saw the blond he couldn't help but feel sad and have pity for his condition. Why was it that he had to end up like he did; cursed and all alone. He never wanted Malfoy to end up like that at all; he wanted everyone to be happy and living an amazing life after the War. He had hoped the git got married and had many Pureblood babies with his Pureblood wife. Yet, the Malfoy heir was left alone in an empty Manor with his grieving mother and a curse.

Malfoy was wearing the most beautiful navy robes with fabric draping over his chest in a way Harry had never seen before. And yes, he could call his robes _beautiful_ because they simply were. He himself had tried to dress up a little more decently for another visit to the blond as he felt too professional in his Auror robes the previous time. But his burgundy pair couldn't compete with Malfoy's tailored ones. Shiny silver buttons and those delicate snakes, hiding within the seams.

 _Since when do you care about what Malfoy's wearing,_ he thought to himself. He never did before, did he? But maybe he _should_ notice it more, as it seemed to be an art on it's own.

Yet he couldn't see besides the dark circles that grew around his grey eyes and the way his blond locks just didn't want to stay the way they once did. Malfoy seemed desperate to make it look like he was completely fine even though he was totally not. Something Harry himself never bothered to do; and it probably showed.

Back in Malfoy's bedroom he found himself searching through the entire copy of _Mastering Black; Curious Curses and Peculiar Potions_ again, trying to find that one curse or cure that would solve this whole mess at once. Of course he couldn't help but feel Malfoy's eyes pointed at him the entire time; never leaving every inch of Harry's presence alone. What was it that intrigued the blond so much? Harry didn't have the guts to ask.

His heart sank to the bottom of his shoes when he saw Malfoy collapse after a spell he casted. Was it his fault? Did he do this to him? The curse turned another part of Malfoy's white body black, leaving nothing but more tears behind. And Harry's hand, going through Draco's soft hair. It had always looked so soft but touching it was another thing; it was a reassuring thing. It made Draco cry and Harry himself struggle against a few tears himself. Why was it that he couldn't help this man more? He wanted to help Malfoy. He wanted to help _Draco_ …

 

*

 

Finding the Department of Cursed Corpses was one of the most difficult things Harry had ever done. It was almost as difficult as finding a damn Horcrux! Together with Ron he explored every inch of the Ministry at least three times; not finding anything that could point in it's direction. Nobody talked about it, wrote about or even heard about, besides Kingsley of course.

But Harry just couldn't leave it alone, he had to see the bloody corpse even if it meant losing his job. Being an Auror hadn't been what he expected it to be in the first place, anyway; it had become rather boring over the past five years and maybe he would even be glad if he lost the damn job. Ron on the other hand didn't feel the same way; he had a family to take care of and didn't want to lose his job at any cost. Understanding and respecting his best friend's opinion, Harry decided to be more careful but also stay as determined as before.

It wasn't until the first of June when they finally found out where this secret department could be found. Paying another visit to St. Mungo's to check on Davis' condition, they overheard a duo of Unspeakables chatting in the man's hospital room. Harry and Ron hadn't mean to overhear their conversation but as they had approached Davis' room; their curiosity at the sound of voices took over. The men first talked about casual things like the weather and their families, nothing special or interesting there. They also assured Davis that his cat was being taken care of, something that make Ron almost choke on holding in a laugh. The sight of Davis with a cat was apparently too amusing to his best mate.

The interesting part came when one of them was about to leave, which made the other protest.

'You're already leaving, mate? Thought you maybe wanted to grab something to eat together at that new place I talked about earlier,' one of the men said to the other.

'I can't, I still have to visit that new department. You know; the cursed corpses one,' the other man had replied.

After they gave each other a quick look of wide eyes, the boys focused on the man's words again.

'It's down in the basement so perhaps if you'll hang out with silent Davis for another hour we can still go to that place afterwards? Really have to do this task first; the Minister himself gave it to me so I better be off now,' the man continued.

With that said, the man left the room. Harry and Ron had to duck away as fast as they could; Ron almost knocking over a plant as he hid in the room next door. Harry managed to hide himself behind a nurse's small cart. Luckily the man seemed totally oblivious to his surroundings and noticed nothing at all. Why hadn't they thought about looking for the department elsewhere than the Ministry? _Probably because every other department is located at the Ministry,_ a little voice in Harry's head told him. Of course, but still. A department for the dead; it being located at St. Mungo's seemed as an obvious thing all of the sudden.

A rather unfortunate thing was that the man walked fast, taking big steps as he went. As he came to a halt by the elevator they decided to wait around a corner and take the stairs to the basement instead once the man had disappeared.

The basement of the hospital was a place Harry had never visited before. A cold atmosphere hung in the hallways like ominous clouds and made shivers run over down his spine with every step he took. Hidden again they waited for the elevator to reach the -1 floor, the man striding out of its doors with his quick pace picked up fast. Trailing him along the cold and abandoned hallways they reached a set of double doors, locked with a special numeral code system.

'That's a very Muggle way to secure a Magical department, don't you think?' Harry asked Ron.

Ron shrugged in response. It wasn't a question he should have asked Ron anyway; the man had no experience with any Muggle technology to begin with. A numeral code was maybe a smart move to protect a Magical department at last. Harry focused on the man's hands and could easily spot which numbers his fingers pressed, fortunately. 1004 he read, followed by the little star icon.

Gone from their view, the duo waited a few minutes before unlocking the doors themselves. The whole ritual didn't make a lot of noise, an advantage they needed to be able to sneak into the department unnoticed. The hallway behind the doors was as abandoned and cold as the previous had been. But as they rounded a corridor a healer in mint robes came in sight, talking to the man that led their way in. Harry fumbled in his pocket at pulled out his invisibility cloak; showing it to Ron. His best mate seemed very pleased to see the piece of fabric and helped Harry to pull it over their bodies. The fabric felt familiar to Harry's skin and shot him straight back to his secret nightly adventures at Hogwarts. Side by side they made their way to the pair; not too close but close enough to overhear their conversation.

'… Davis still hasn't said a word. Was the task of retrieving a former Death Eater really that gruesome?' They heard the man say.

The healer replied with a sigh and guided the man to a door at the end of the hallway. Harry and Ron followed a few seconds laters. What they saw inside the room made both their stomachs flip.

A marble table dominated the room with above it a floating body. At least, if it could be called a body. Dolohov's body was unrecognizable as it was black as coal, his face a shade alike. His eyes weren't there, or maybe they were but were too black to be seen. The man's mouth was opened slightly; exposing black pointy teeth and drawn up into a grimace. Harry immediately understood why Davis was so shocked; Dolohov didn't look human anymore, he indeed looked like a Dementor.

'We have yet to figure out what exactly happened to the man but I can assure you; it's dark, dark magic. Probably also very ancient magic, the caster must have studied curses from Medieval times,' the healer explained to the man.

The man by then had taken the color of the healer's robes, his eyes looking anywhere but the deformed body of Dolohov. 'Kingsley had hoped you'd figured this curse out by now. He isn't very keen on the fact that the Ministry's hiding a near-Dementor beneath the floors of St. Mungo's. Imagine what would happen it became public,' the Unspeakable said.

Another sigh from the Healer followed. Harry started to wonder wether the Healer was incapable of speaking when he opened his mouth; 'We have tried every test possible, did research from morning to another… Besides from a few similar curses and potions there aren't any clues to what was cast upon this man. We have researched every inch of his body to only conclude that it is a complete mystery. Don't even know how his teeth grew to their current sharp state…'

The Unspeakable crossed his arms and let out a sigh of his own. His eyes dared to give the deformed body another look before staring at the Healer again. 'Kingsley told me to give you another week. If you haven't found anything by next week we'll be back to get rid of the body.'

'But-' the Healer tried.

'No. One week. Don't get me wrong; I know- We know that this is a very unique case that should be studied thoroughly but we just can't risk having something like this amongst us. Nobody else is suffering from the curse anyway; a cure simply isn't necessary,' the Unspeakable said.

Harry felt his head fill with heat. How did he mean, there isn't anyone that needed a cure? What about Draco Malfoy? Had they just simply forgotten his entire existence?

The Unspeakable left the room without further argument; chin held up high and no emotions showing whatsoever. With only the Healer left alone in the room, Harry couldn't contain himself any longer. His invisibility cloak was off before he knew, leaving only Ron hidden beneath the enchanted fabric. The Healer almost got a heart attack, grabbing ahold of the marble table as his knees gave in to the shock. Wide eyes stared at Harry's furious face.

'Why are you giving up so fast?' he almost shouted to the man.

The Healer didn't know what to say; still shocked from the sudden appearance of Harry Potter, savior of the Wizarding World.

'There is someone that does need the cure to this curse, you know. That Unspeakable was lying to you,' he then said.

Those words changed something in the man. His expression changed from terrified to _mortified,_ placing his hand on his lips and looking away from Harry's eyes. 'I-I don't know…' he mumbled.

'You should know. You should _care,'_ Harry said to him. 'And you should help us.'

The Healer let out another sigh, his eyes focused on Dolohov's body. It took the man a few seconds to find his voice again now that the initial shock was over. 'As you probably overheard, I haven't found any clue to what this curse is yet. There is nothing to be found on this… men's body,' he said. He seemed to struggle with calling the death body of Dolohov that of a man.

'But there must be something! You have to help us find an antidote; a cure.' Harry took some steps towards the man, entering his personal space a little more and giving him a desperate stare. 'It's Voldemort's doing and only you can help me fight the last of his legacy.'

The Healer swallowed. 'I-I don't know…' he muttered for a second time. 'I'll run some more tests this week but that's all that I can do. Once they return for the body I won't be able to do any more.' The man looked nervous and tired, probably utterly exhausted because of the case.

'Can you please inform me once you find something?' Harry asked the Healer and he nodded in return. The nod was more firm than Harry thought he was capable of but gave him a feeling of promise; the Healer would try his best to help Harry as best as he could.

 

*

'So you say they haven't found anything?' Malfoy is sitting across him, dressed in dark green robes with a large silver brooch in the shape of a snake positioned on his heart. 

Harry nods, taking a sip of his tea. It was camomile today, relaxing Harry all the way to his soul. But maybe it wasn't the tea that relaxed him; perhaps he had become more comfortable in the presence of Malfoy. He doesn't feel the rivalry anymore that he used to feel or felt when he visited him a month ago. The pity he felt for the blond also has disappeared and is replaced with understanding. And of course there are also other feelings that are slowly showing up at the surface of their relationship; but what they are, Harry's not sure about. Friendship, perhaps, but he feels different to be around Malfoy than he does when he's around Ron or Hermione.

'The Healer has one more week to run more tests but I wouldn't expect much from it, if I were you. But don't worry, Hermione is looking into things again. I informed her about what we saw and she seemed to have seen some sort of a light, to say. Let's hope she'll find something useful again,' Harry says with a sigh.

Harry hadn't been entirely honest with Malfoy; he hadn't said what Dolohov's body looked like exactly. Nor that it almost resembled a Dementor. _His body looked quite black_ , is what Harry had said. _His arm was the same as Draco's and the curse had spread over his chest but that was it, his had lied._ He immediately felt guilty when Malfoy had sighed out of relief, believing that the curse wouldn't take over his entire body. But maybe it was for Malfoy's own good to believe Harry's lies; he couldn't have the man be even more worried than he already was. If Malfoy had seen Dolohov's body with his own eyes, he probably would have collapsed on the spot.

Malfoy lets out a sneer. 'Something useful like that book that spread the curse even further?' His hand automatically reaches towards his collarbone, hidden away beneath the green fabric of his robes.

'At least she's trying to help, the Unspeakables are pretending like you don't even exist,' Harry replies. Taking another sip of his tea he realizes he probably shouldn't have said that and guessing by the sudden look of sadness on Malfoy's face; he's right. 'I-I didn't mean-'

' _Don't_ , Potter,' he interrupts him, hand raised to stop his words. 'It had already been clear to me that the Ministry doesn't give a single fuck about what happens to me. It's just… Eye-opening to hear it like that, I suppose.'

The blond's eyes search for something to focus themselves on, finding Harry's tea cup the perfect item for the job. It feels like Malfoy's staring holes through the china, the tea ready to seep out of its cup any second now. But nothing happens, of course. Harry's tea stays where it's supposed to be and Malfoy's eyes wander of to his own tea cup after a while.

'And don't forget that we can always still go to Bulgaria, see if we can look into that case I told you about earlier. Maybe a change of location will do you good as well,' Harry tells Malfoy after a minute of silence. The other man just nods, eyes still focused on the tea cup.

As another silence stretches out, Harry gives himself the time to think a bit more how _he's_ feeling. He actually hasn't thought about his own feelings for a while or his own health. How does he feel? Tired, perhaps. Maybe a little confused about his sudden comfortable relationship with Malfoy? He swallows at the thought of _relationship_ and _Malfoy_ in the same sentence. Didn't he think about those two words together earlier this evening? He doesn't remember. But why does he always get this strange feeling in his heart when he sees Malfoy? His thoughts wander off to when he waited at Malfoy's door earlier; taking in the intricate design of the wooden door again. It took him only one knock before Malfoy had opened the door; staring at him with parted lips and a look on his face that almost seemed to radiate ' _missing_ '. Had Malfoy missed Harry? Yet another thing he doesn't know.

Did he, Harry Potter himself, miss Malfoy?

 _Yes_ , maybe he did. He did think about the blond a lot the entire week. Of course it partly had to do with his hunt for the cursed corpse department and trying to come up with a cure for his curse. But he had also thought of Malfoy when he woke up, drinking his tea. His thoughts wandered off to Malfoy drinking tea out of the tea cup Harry had given him. And at night, while he was laying in his bed, he had thought about Malfoy as well. He had wondered what it would be like to lay in Malfoy's four-poster bed, the heavy curtains drawn closed and surrounded by the darkness of the blond's room.

Was it strange to think about Malfoy that much?

 _Yes_ , it was. He's even thinking about him right now while he's supposed to be thinking about himself; about his health. But all his mind wants think about is Malfoy, Malfoy-

' _Malfoy_ ,' the blond's name leaves his lips before he can even try to stop it.

Immediately the stormy grey eyes of the man look up, stare right into Harry's own. 'Yes?'

Harry shakes his head. 'Nothing, I was just… Just thinking,' he mumbles.

Draco furrows his brows and moves to the edge of his seat. His eyes never leave Harry's, only seem to get more intense with every passing second.'What were you thinking about?' he then asks.

Harry can't help but swallow with the subject of his thoughts only at an arm length away. He shakes his head again and wants to look away, yet he finds himself incapable of doing so. Grey eyes are locked in his with more determination than ever. 'You would laugh,' he whispers. Dearly he hopes Malfoy didn't hear it but by the deepening of the blond's frown, he probably did.

'Well, that depends of course,' Malfoy whispers back. The fact that he _whispered_ it back makes Harry smile a little. Malfoy always knows exactly how to reply to one's words. It's almost as if he knows what reaction or emotion it will bring to the surface.

Keeping his mouth shut, Harry finally manages to look away from Malfoy's stormy eyes. Eyes on his tea again, he looks at the small reflection of himself in the hot liquid. It would be silly to tell Malfoy he was thinking about him, wouldn't it? Of course he could tell him he was thinking about his cursed arm; that would be easy to believe. But he had waited to long to reply with such an answer; it had became an easy lie. Malfoy's pale right hand appears in Harry's vision, hovering besides his tea cup and then slowly touching his hand with his long fingers.

It makes Harry look up as fast as he looked away, only to stare into eyes that had become a full tornado by this time. And so _close_ the blond was again, now only a forearm away. At the sound of jiggling china he looks down at his tea cup again, noticing that his hands are shaking. Malfoy takes the tea cup out from him, placing it next to his own on the small table. His pale and gloved hand now both find their way to Harry's and hold them still. 'Do I make you _nervous_ , Potter?' he then whispers.

With their eyes and hands locked again, Harry doesn't know what to think anymore. Malfoy is so close, his warmth radiating through his palms. It makes him feel uncomfortable yet comfortable too; it's quite confusing, really. 'N-No,' he manages to get out. It sounds like a lie, and judging by Malfoy's sneer he knows it's one too.

'Now, tell me what you were thinking about earlier. Release yourself from your thoughts, _Harry_ ,' Malfoy says to him, this time a little louder than a whisper. The use of his given name makes Harry's heart jump again and his palms sweat; he's sure Malfoy will notice it too.

'I was thinking about you,' he says. A breath leaves his mouth, one he didn't know he was holding in.

Malfoy's eyes light up a bit, like the sun just broke through the clouds. 'About me? How interesting,' he replies. His sneer only grows wider, exposing a bit of his teeth. It's a smile Harry knows well from his Hogwarts days; one he only saw on the blond's face when he was extremely proud of a snide remark he made. But this time it seemed to hold a whole different meaning, but Harry wasn't sure what that meaning would be exactly. 'May I ask why?' he then asks.

Harry swallows and looks down at their hands, Malfoy's pale fingers are still wrapped around Harry's tanned ones. The leather of his glove making Harry's palm feel even more sweaty. 'Our relationship… I was thinking about that,' he answers.

A nod follows from the blond, his grey eyes looking away for just a second. 'Our relationship…' he whispers, more to himself than to Harry. He follows Malfoy's eyes to the tea cup he made for him. He looks at it as if he hadn't noticed it was there before; eyes wide and lips parted a bit. Harry then feels a slight squeeze in his hands. 'And what is that to you, exactly?' Malfoy asks, his eyes still staring at the tea cup.

'I-I don't know, that's why I was thinking about it,' Harry replies. Maybe he should've answered something differently? What if he had said they were friends or- or what? What were they, anyway?

Malfoy nods again, eyes looking away from the tea cup and hands drawing back from Harry's. It immediately leaves an empty feelings inside Harry's chest; the warmth that Malfoy's palms spread suddenly missing. 'I think you should leave. It's already late, anyway,' Malfoy then says.

Harry now is the one to nod. 'Of course,' he replies. They both stand up from their chairs, only then noticing how close they had been to one another while seated. There's only a few inches between their faces; their noses close to touching. It makes Harry blush and Malfoy look away immediately. Harry takes a step aside, away from Malfoy and the chairs and hears Malfoy do the same in the opposite direction. When he looks at the blond again, he notices that he's once again staring at the tea cup Harry gave him. But this time he looks at it with a certain sadness, or was it perhaps a certain… longing?

Almost as if Malfoy felt Harry's eyes on him, he looks away from the tea cup. 'Will you inform me when Granger finds something new?' he asks Harry.

'Of course I will. Even if she doesn't I'll inform you with whatever nonsense I've come up with in the meantime. I won't give up on you so easily, Draco,' he replies with a small smile.

Malfoy suddenly seems to freeze; his eyes a bit wider than usual and his posture as straight as that of a wand. 'D-did you just call me by my given name?' he asks, tone emotionless and lips almost moving invisibly. It's only then that Harry notices that he indeed did call him _Draco_ and not _Malfoy_ like he usually does.

'I guess I did,' he replies. 'You called me Harry earlier as well, didn't you?'

Malfoy now looks away from him, eyes staring at his mahogany floor and hands behind his back. 'I guess I did.'

 

— End of Chapter 5 —

 

 

 


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